


A Love Story

by life42universe



Series: A Love Story [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 83,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/life42universe/pseuds/life42universe
Summary: With Blaine still recovering in Ohio and Kurt living it up in the big city, will they be able to make things work? In this sequel to A Ghost Story and A Recovery Story, Kurt's working for Vogue and balancing roommates, Blaine's balancing recovery and deciding whether he wants to admit who hurt him. With all of the challenges facing them, will they make it out together? Or will it be just another sad love story?





	1. Welcome to New York

**Author's Note:**

> I'm baaaaack!!!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented, sent kudos, read, or so much as looked at my other works. I appreciate every single one of you more than I possibly have the words to say. 
> 
> My break has been extremely productive. This work is unique in that most of it is actually drafted. 22 1/2 chapters are at least in the rough draft stage, at the current moment. That means I actually know where the story's going!
> 
> No spoilers in the comments, though, pinky swear.
> 
> Anyway, as a Halloween treat to myself (because it's my favorite holiday), I've decided to start posting. I hope you enjoy. I'm pretty proud of it so far, and I sincerely hope it lives up to your expectations.
> 
> Chapters will go up twice a week, approximately on Mondays and Thursdays, so long as I can keep my editing self ahead of my writing self. Enjoy!

Kurt loved New York. 

He’d known he’d love New York, of course. He’d grown up on Broadway soundtracks and the pages of Vogue. New York was practically in his blood. But though the thought of New York had made him happy on his worst days, helped him put up with growing up in gay in Ohio, the reality of it was beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

He loved the anonymity. He loved the fact that he could climb onto the subway and see a guy sitting there in a unicorn onesie and no one would think twice. He loved that he could be exactly who he was and for once, he wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb. He’d never been one to shy away from being in the spotlight, but sometimes, it was nice to be normal. Here, he was just another aspiring fashionista, instead of the town’s token gay. Almost every shop had a pride flag in the corner of the window. Some of the crosswalks were painted in rainbow colors. He’d seen a drag queen out at ten in the morning with a full face of makeup, wig, and heels. There were couples everywhere, representing every possible combination of gender and orientation. The only people who were on the receiving end of weird looks were people who weren’t minding their own business. It was a dream. 

Their apartment was tiny, of course. It was a two bedroom, according to the ad he’d picked out with Rachel. A two bedroom by New York standards was slightly bigger than his living room back home. The room he was sharing with Rachel was about the size of his old closet. They had a kitchen with a single burner stove, something he hadn’t even realized existed, and no oven. They couldn’t fit a full couch in what counted as their living room, so instead, they had a loveseat and camp chair, the ultimate in luxurious living. The décor was a hodgepodge of Rachel’s inspirational posters and Kurt’s deliberately placed knickknacks. There were labels on all the cabinets to keep them out of each other’s food (not that Kurt wanted to be brave and try vegan cheese, anyway). The closet situation was beyond ridiculous. He’d ended up buying a spring-loaded clothes rack and hanging it above the mattress he’d laid flat on the floor. If he sat up quickly upon waking, it seemed like his coats were trying to strangle him, but at least he had storage. He was working at Vogue. He couldn’t exactly sacrifice fashion for practicality. It was a mess. Far too small for three people. An absolute nightmare. He adored it.

The only thing he truly hated about the apartment was the fact that Blaine would never be able to see it. It was a fifth-floor walkup, and buildings with elevators were apparently rare in New York at their price point. Even if Blaine started walking tomorrow, the stairs would be a barrier for access for him for a long time. Of course, that did have its benefits. Blane would likely never meet Cody. 

Cody, their third roommate, was an interesting guy. He mostly stayed in his own closet bedroom, for which Kurt felt unending gratitude. He wasn’t as bad as Rachel had made him sound. In fact, Kurt had been expecting someone almost as pushy as she was. Instead, Cody was silent. He spent ninety percent of his time in his room, noise-cancelling headphones on, ignoring them both. Honestly, as far as roommates went, they could have had it much worse. But it made the times when they did see him a little uncomfortable. Kurt had nearly given himself a heart attack the other day when he’d gone to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Cody had been standing there, heating up a hot pocket in the microwave, silent as always. It was downright creepy. The only good thing was the fact that Cody would pop out of his room to scream at Rachel when she decided on impromptu rehearsals at 3 AM. He let Rachel rant at him about it, after the fact, but he thought the man had a point. 

His first day at Vogue had been a bit of a surprise. He’d been expecting The Devil Wears Prada and had ended up closer to Office Space. He’d spent hours upon hours in orientations and HR presentations, learning how to log into his computer, being told entirely too much about email scams that wouldn’t have fooled his dad, and inventing a million different passwords he’d never remember for everything from his login to the printer. He’d left nervous that he was going to be one of those interns that spent ages running around getting coffee for other people and never doing anything interesting. It had taken a midnight tea with Rachel and a one AM skype session with Blaine to make him feel better. He realized that it had only been the first day, he couldn’t judge based off of that alone. He’d gone back the next day a bit less optimistic, but still hopeful.

It had been incredible. 

Isabelle was everything he could ever hope for in a boss. She was kind, considerate, open. She’d immediately asked about Blaine, remembering his name and the situation with an almost scary accuracy. She’d been sympathetic, even when he’d nearly cried in her office. She’d assured him he’d always be able to take the time off he needed to see Blaine, for whatever reason. He had the freedom to come and go as he needed to make sure he could take care of the most important person in his life. How could he ask for anything more?

After a bit of time to calm down and lunch at an adorable little café a few blocks down, they’d come back to the office and started talking about the work. She was impressed by his blog. He was impressed by the fact that she’d read it. The HR letter had said so, but he was a no one from Ohio with a tiny fashion blog. She was the editor of Vogue.com. It was surreal. She loved his writing style and wanted to leverage him on a few of the articles that were coming out soon. She even gave him the liberty to rewrite very small sections. Okay, sentences. But still, he could rewrite part of an article that was coming out in one of the largest online fashion magazines in the world. His writing would be on Vogue.com. Any fears he’d had about his internship had faded away, and he’d gone home with dreams of his own face staring back from the screen, his name underneath an article title.

His coworkers were amazing, the apartment was lovably awful, his assignments were incredible. The building that housed his work was feet from one of the most famous streets in the world. He could see the neon lights of Times Square from his office window. Well, the communal office window at the end of his row of cubicles. Everything was fitting into place, like puzzle pieces clicking home. And yet, it felt like there was something missing. Or someone, rather. Someone with curly hair and bright hazel eyes and a laugh that never failed to make Kurt smile.

He sighed quietly as he started making himself a cup of warm milk before bed. They talked constantly, of course. Blaine would call or text or Skype whenever he had the chance. He’d been amazing about remembering to send pictures from PT. Kurt had even set little reminders on his phone to keep him texting Blaine through the day when work was too overwhelming. They were making the distance work, even if it had only been a few weeks. But despite all their efforts, living so far from Blaine left a hole in his life.

Right as he thought it, his phone started to ring. He lit up at the sight of Blaine’s eyes grinning up at him from the screen and swiped.

“Hey, stranger,” Kurt said with a smile. “I was just thinking about you.”

Blaine hummed on the other end of the line. “Really? Must be- um, psychic.”

Kurt nodded. “You are definitely psychic. Which is creepy, now that I think about it. I don’t know if I want you to know when I’m thinking about you.”

“Not trying to be- um, creepy. I just-… I just miss you. And it’s nearly- um, bedtime.”

Kurt hummed, settling onto the loveseat with his warm milk. “You sound amazing, you know. That new speech therapist is doing wonders for you.”

Blaine made a noncommittal noise.

“You don’t like her?”

There was a brief pause and the sound of a pen. “I do. But she never lets me use my notebook in my appointments. I spent twenty minutes at the end of my last one trying to tell her that I needed to know where the bathroom was. The word just poofed.”

Kurt snorted. “Okay, I know that’s really frustrating, but the look on your face must have been epic.” Kurt knew, logically, that Blaine still needed help going to the bathroom. He’d gained a ton of his range of motion and strength back, but he couldn’t transfer to and from his chair without help. There was no way he was getting himself on and off the toilet. Sarah was always there, just in case. It was one of the few things they never talked about. “It’s probably good for you not to use the notebook all the time, you know.”

He could hear the pout in Blaine’s voice when he spoke after another moment of writing. “But I like being able to talk when I don’t sound like an idiot.”

“Hey, watch that. You’re not an idiot, and I refuse to listen to you call yourself one. That’s my favorite person you’re talking about.”

This time, he could hear the smile. “Oh, hush.” 

Kurt hummed quietly. “And how’s everything else? How are you physically doing?” 

There was a longish silence, and then Blaine was speaking again. “Good. I’m doing alright.”

There was something in his tone that Kurt didn’t like, that made him think he might be lying. He took a breath and blew it out, shaking his head. He couldn’t think like that. He had to trust that Blaine would tell him. If not now, then eventually. They had to trust each other. “You know you can talk to me about that stuff, right? I won’t panic and come home because you had a crappy day.”

A pause. “I know.” Another pause; he could hear the pen scratching on paper. “I’m okay, I promise. Just a headache today.”

Kurt winced in sympathy. He knew how bad Blaine’s migraines could get, though he never called them that. ‘Headache’ sounded a lot more kind. Maybe he thought naming them would make them more real. “Wish I could give you a hug.”

He heard that smile again. “Me- um, too.”

Kurt glanced at the clock. “If you had a headache today, you probably need to get some rest. But I’ll talk to you again tomorrow?”

Blaine hummed. “Every day,” he said softly.

Kurt grinned. “Then I’ll talk to you later, B. I miss you.”

“I miss- um, miss you, too.”

Kurt ended the call, but he sat there with his warm milk for a long time. They were making it work. It wasn’t perfect. Nothing about their situation ever had been. But nothing worth having ever was. 

Perfectly imperfect. That was them.


	2. Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody!
> 
> Thank you to everyone for the love and enthusiasm on the first chapter of this fic. I'm so excited to be back, and to be chatting with y'all again!
> 
> Today's an important day to me, so I figured I'd celebrate with an update for ya! Also, because I actually published the schedule I'd likely use, now I'm not using it. Go figure.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Blaine was dying of boredom. Kurt was gone. He’d left a couple of weeks ago. And though the texts were nearly constant and they found time to talk every night, it wasn’t the same. Hanging out with Alex was fun, if exhausting. He had his appointments with his speech therapist a few times a week. In between, he watched a lot of tv and listened to a lot of audiobooks and soundtracks. Kurt still found ways to insert himself into his life, the way he had when he was working at Burt’s shop all the time. But even when he was working nearly full-time in Ohio, he’d always found time to visit. Now, Blaine was spending most of his time alone. 

Today was particularly painful. He’d tried watching a new show. After twenty minutes of huffing out annoyed breaths at the screen, he’d shut it off. He’d tried soundtracks, but they all felt weirdly familiar and brand new at the same time, the way things did when his memory was flaking out on him. It was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. Most days, he could deal with it. Today was not one of those days. His last resort was an audio version of the third Harry Potter book. He loved that book. If that couldn’t cure him of the restless, bored feeling that had taken him over, nothing could. He was halfway through the second chapter, teeth gritted, digging his nails into his stress ball when his mom came in. Normally, he’d be annoyed at the interruption. Today, he was grateful. “Mom.”

Pam looked up at him with a slightly strained smile. “Are you feeling alright today?”

Blaine sighed. That was always everyone’s first question. He nodded. “Good.” He preferred to keep conversation simple when dealing with his mom. It helped them both. 

Pam nodded. “Good, that’s good.”

Blaine frowned. She sounded upset, distracted. “What’s- um, up?”

Pam sighed. “Well, we haven’t been able to get our grocery delivery this week. Normally, they’re quite good, but there was an error in processing. My card expired, I forgot to change it,” she waved a hand in the air as though to push the whole situation aside. “It’s ridiculous, completely my fault. My memory’s nearly as bad as yours, these days.” 

Blaine only raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t been aware they were having groceries delivered. He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just buy them like she always had. It probably had something to do with him. Nearly everything did, these days. 

“Well, it’s Sarah’s evening off, she asked for it ages ago. It’s not like I can deny a request like that. She has the right to a night off. But I need to get the things for dinner for tonight, and I-,” she glanced almost guiltily at him. 

“You can’t leave me, um-,” his nose wrinkled as he dug for the word, “on my own.” Close enough. 

Pam nodded. “I called your father, but he can’t leave work early tonight.”

That was hardly surprising. He never wanted to leave work early. “I can come- um, with you,” Blaine offered hopefully. It would break up the monotony, get him out of the house. His mom would be able to get the shopping done, and he could get a little exposure to the outside world. “Please?”

Pam looked doubtful. It was clear that she wasn’t comfortable with the idea. But she didn’t have much of a choice. Blaine put on his most charming smile. “I’ll be on my- um, my best behavior.”

Pam sighed, shooting him a look that told him she wasn’t buying the grin. He could practically see the argument she was having with herself in her head, debating the pros and cons. Eventually, practicality won out. They needed groceries. Blaine was feeling well enough to go. So they would go. “Your best behavior, Blaine Devon. And if you feel at all sick or tired of if your head hurts, you’ll tell me immediately.”

Blaine beamed, more than happy to comply with her requests, if it meant getting out of the house. 

He was patient as she bundled him up in far too many layers, as she argued with him about the beanie (he won, it stayed firmly on his head), as she fussed with his chair before helping him transfer. Even minding his manners, he couldn’t help but glare at their new van. He had argued that they didn’t need a wheelchair-accessible vehicle. He wasn’t going to be in it much longer. And even while he was, he was able to transfer with a little help. His mom had argued that handicapped taxis weren’t practical and that there were days his transfers didn’t go so well. He hadn’t appreciated the reminder of the day he’d nearly ended up on his ass because of ice on the driveway. Or the day he’d been so dizzy that when he’d tried to help Sarah with the transfer, he’d fallen into her. Or the day that his mom had forgotten to set the brake on the wheelchair and it had nearly zipped out from underneath him. He’e stopped arguing. Didn’t mean that he had to like the stupid van. He insisted on at least pushing himself into it, not letting his mother do all of the work.

They’d been going to Dave’s grocery store since Blaine was too young to remember. It was a family-run shop where everyone seemed to know everyone, and they made killer donuts. Blaine must have been in it thousands of times over the years. The place should have been familiar. But they’d rearranged in the three years he’d been gone. They’d remodeled, moved the entrance. There was a Starbucks inside, now. And of course, there was his new perspective, as he was pushed through the door by his mother. They passed ladies she knew from work, and she waved, the chair lurching awkwardly each time she pulled one hand off the handlebars. Blaine grabbed for his wheels to help, despite the annoyed little huff from his mother. 

After so long being stuck in his room or the hospital gym or the doctor’s office, the store was nearly overwhelming. It was loud and bright, full of people. He loved it. He kept turning his head to watch the comings and goings that would have bored him before. A little boy chased his younger sister around while their mother picked out a brand of mac ‘n’ cheese. An older man glared daggers at a pile of onions like they’d murdered someone. A college-aged girl yelled something incomprehensible into her cell phone as she headed straight for the ice cream aisle. A few people were staring at him. There weren’t very many people in wheelchairs in Westerville. Fewer that were young and whose moms were well-known in the community. He ignored their pity, their sympathy, their curiosity. He was out of the house. That was what mattered. 

“Pam!” He looked back over his shoulder and spotted an older woman headed straight for them. He recognized her. Helen. When he was younger and had still gone to church with his parents, she’d been in bible study with his mom. She was the church gossip, the woman who always had to know everything about everyone. He grabbed the wheels of his chair while his mother was distracted and carefully rolled away. He didn’t go far, knowing she’d panic if he was too distant. But he felt enough like a freak show without her commentary. 

Despite his best efforts, he heard fragments of the conversation. 

“Oh, so good that the poor dear is out of the house…”

“... doing so much better now...”

“... a shame. I heard it might have been those boys from Lima Heights...”

Blaine focused on the display in front of himself, trying to tune it out. 

“... that poor Lavery family...”

His stomach dropped. He really didn’t want to be thinking about Andrew, right now. 

“Blaine.”

He jumped, wondering how long he’d been staring at a random packet of Lays in his hands. This voice was new, but oddly familiar. Eerily familiar. His head snapped up as he placed it, and he locked eyes with a young man his age. His dark hair was longer than Blaine remembered it. The smirk Blaine had always known was gone. He looked pale, like he’d seen a ghost. 

Pete. 

Blaine felt a phantom pain in his shoulder, the memory of Pete’s hands shoving his arm behind his back so intense that for a moment, he thought it was happening again. He could smell Pete’s cologne, hear his voice laughing as Max pulled his fist back. He fell back into the present moment, grabbing the wheels of his chair and trying to back away. He bumped into the shelves, too close to turn around. He couldn’t seem to draw a deep breath. Every time he looked at Pete, all he could see was his blue dress shirt, the ugly pinstripes of the blazer he’d been wearing, the grin on his face as Max had told him to hold Blaine still.

Pete held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, hey, I’m not going to hurt you. I thought- I mean, the rumor mill’s kind of gone crazy since you- uh, left,” he swallowed hard. He was sweating. He looked almost as sick as Blaine felt. “We never meant it to go that far, man. You have to believe me. We just thought- I mean, we thought we’d rough you up a little and you’d stop trying to- to rub it in our faces. The- the gay thing. I mean, it was super gross, you’ve got to understand.”

One kiss. His first kiss. A couple of dances. They hadn’t done anything remotely inappropriate. They’d just wanted to experience Sadie Hawkins, the same as anyone else. He tried to say the words, but he was frozen. His chest ached. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t make a sound. In his head, he watched Andrew disappear around the corner with Danny and Alex. He heard him scream. 

“Dude, are you, like, having a fit or something?” 

Blaine didn’t know whether to laugh or start screaming. This was absurd. Absolutely absurd. The guy who’d been partially responsible for bashing his head in was looking at him like he was too simple to understand a simple conversation. He grabbed for his wheels again, desperate to leave this situation far behind. He needed air. He needed to calm down. He searched the shelves frantically, trying to cope the way Alex had taught him, but he couldn’t seem to keep track of the five things he could see. He kept seeing that night. Pete’s ugly pinstriped blazer. Max’s bloody fist. Andrew’s panicked eyes.

“Blaine?” His mother’s panicked voice cut through the fog in his head. He tried to answer, but he couldn’t seem to get his voice to function. There wasn’t any air. He looked up to see Pete backing away, looking around guiltily. Like he was afraid someone would recognize him. 

Blaine tore his eyes away, looking to his mother, grabbing for his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to suffocate. 

All he could remember later were flashes. 

An employee in a polo grabbing the handles of his chair and pushing. 

Fresh air, the sound of his mother’s worried voice. 

Streetlights making faces in the window. 

Home. 

His mother’s voice, sharp and hard, not talking to him, a phone pressed to her ear.

A pill in his hand. 

A sip of water.

Quiet.

Eventually, he became aware that he could breathe. He was at home, lying in bed. His mother was in the armchair. It was dark in the room and behind the curtains. It must’ve been hours since his little episode. He shifted slowly. All of his muscles were sore. He felt vaguely nauseous. His throat hurt from too many panicked breaths too quickly. He cleared it carefully and saw Pam flinch at the sound. “Water?” His voice sounded rough, like he’d been yelling.

Pam grabbed the cup and straw on his bedside table. She helped him sit and held it for him as he drank. Her face was pale, drawn, exhausted. Her mascara was gone and there were dark smudges under her eyes. She’d been crying. 

“I’m okay,” he said softly, trying to reassure her. He felt like crap, but he was okay. “Did I-...” He didn’t know how to finish the question. He wanted to know what happened, but he didn’t want to upset his mother any further than she clearly already was. 

“You had a panic attack,” Pam said quietly. “I knew it was a terrible idea to take you out like that. You’ve barely been around people at all. A grocery store is packed, especially that time of day. Helen distracted me; you know how she is. I should have been with you. We’re not attempting that again, not any time soon.”

Blaine reached for her hand. He missed, but managed to correct fairly quickly. “Mom,” he said softly, “it- it wasn’t the- um, the shop.”

Pam shot him a look. “You’ve had anxiety attacks since coming home, Blaine, but you haven’t had a real panic attack since you were in the hospital. I had to give you tranquilizers. I had to call your doctor, I couldn’t even remember the dosage.”

Blaine nodded. “I know. I’m- I’m sorry. But it wasn’t the- um, the-,” he’d just gotten this one, how could he have forgotten already?

“If it wasn’t being in the store, then what was it, Blaine?”

He almost wished for one of those moments when his mind would blank and he couldn’t remember a thing. He wished that seeing Pete would just vanish from his awareness. No such luck. Pete’s face was burned into his memory, his voice as he’d tried to justify beating the shit out of them for existing. They were gross. Pete and Max had only been trying to teach them a lesson. He swallowed hard, biting his lip. 

“I saw someone from- um, from school.”

Pam blinked at him as though unsure what to do with that information. “Alright.” She clearly didn’t understand why that might’ve made him panic. “Well, that’s going to happen if you go out again, Blaine. Westerville isn’t that big. If that’s the issue, then we’ll need to keep you home. I can’t handle you panicking every time you run into a classmate.”

Blaine flinched, taking a deep breath. He tried not to use his notebook with his mom. It made her nervous when he wrote, and she wasn’t very patient. But he needed to be clear. He wrote for a few moments, trying to be as succinct as possible.

“He was one of the guys who used to give me a rough time. It was hard to see him. He talked to me. I wasn’t expecting it. It was a reminder of... of what- um, happened.”

He’d written ‘a reminder of the attack’, but that was a little much. He knew his mom didn’t want to think about what had happened to him.

Pam looked at him for a long moment. Her face paled. “Blaine, was he one of the ones who-...” she trailed off, eyes moving to his scar. Someone had taken off his beanie when he was sleeping. He reached up to brush his hair over his forehead. His hand went straight to the spot, though he didn’t process that he hadn’t missed. 

“I was just- just scared. We can- um, try- um, again.” 

Pam looked at him for a long moment, trying to read through his answer. He didn’t know if she was successful. Eventually, she relented, breathing out a quiet breath through her nose. “Alright, Blaine. Get some rest. We’ll discuss going out again later, when you’re feeling better.” She squeezed his hand and stood from the armchair. 

Blaine nodded, glad to be spared from any more conversation. He managed a weak smile as he let go of her hand and watched her leave the room. There were some things she couldn’t protect him from. 

He picked up the phone, flipping through until he found Kurt’s name. He hesitated for only a moment before he clicked the call icon, listening to it ring. 

“Kurt?”

“Blaine! You sound funny. Why do you sound funny?”

He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. He would tell him. But right now, he just wanted to listen to his voice. “I just- just really, really- um, miss you.”

“Me, too, B. Me, too.” 

“Tell me about- um, about Vogue?”

Kurt launched into a story and he let himself zone out, letting his voice wash over him and drive the fear away.


	3. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, first of all, thank you to everyone who's engaging with this story. I'm about to get sappy in the next paragraph, but feel free to skip that, if it's not your thing. Suffice it to say thank you, I appreciate you, and I'm eternally grateful to be here. So enjoy Valentine's Day with our boys!
> 
> On a more serious note for those of you who want to hear the sap, I've had a really rough month and a half or so. Stuff's been going on in my personal life that has been extremely difficult to handle. I haven't always handled it particularly well. But reading your comments, getting to interact with you, being supported by a community that should, by all rights, be completely dead, it's made things easier. It's made it feel like I have people to turn to, a way to work out my emotions with fictional characters and have people identify with them for it. This outlet has been incredible for me, and I know that it's only possible because you are all amazing. So thank you, from the bottom of my cold, dead heart.

Kurt was ready. Really, he was. Everything was packed and checked and re-packed. Twice. His outfit was perfect. Subtle hints of red and pink without being too on-the-nose. His dad was picking him up from the airport. He’d talked to Pam to make sure everything was good on her end. He was ready. 

He was also a nervous wreck. He took yet another deep breath as he checked his hair in the mirror. 

He’d been planning this for weeks. Valentine’s Day was a Thursday, this year. He’d told Blaine that he wouldn’t be able to be there, that Vogue had him working an important assignment and he’d be stuck in New York until at least Saturday. Blaine had been nothing but accommodating, of course. He was always supportive of Kurt’s career. In reality, Kurt had been planning this surprise. A reveal that would go down in history: a romantic dinner for two, tickets to see the touring show of Wicked. He’d saved forever to afford them. But it would be so worth it to see Blaine’s eyes light up when they heard the first chords.

He glanced at his watch, nodded, and grabbed his bag. It was time. 

The airport was crowded. Apparently, a lot of people traveled on Valentine’s Day. The flight was miserable. The toddler behind him hadn’t yet learned how to keep his feet to himself. They were out of pretzels and only had trail mix full of peanuts (he hated peanuts). The plane had movie screens in the backs of the seats, but his was broken. It was like the universe was conspiring against him. Still, despite it all, there was a smile on his face as they landed. He was seeing Blaine. He had the perfect evening planned. It would be fine. 

The grin felt a lot more genuine as he spotted his dad pulling up to the arrivals gate. “Hi,” he said breathlessly as he climbed into the car. “Did you get everything I ordered?”

Burt laughed, shaking his head. “Not even a ‘Hi, Dad, how ya been’?”

Kurt flushed, shrugging his shoulders. “I mean, it’s not like we don’t still talk.”

“Not as much as I’d like, kiddo.”

Kurt ducked his head. “I know, sorry, I just- I’m excited, you know? This is my first Valentine’s Day when I’ve got someone to celebrate with. And it’s Blaine’s first, too, I want everything to be perfect.”

“As long as the two of you are together, it’ll probably feel that way. You don’t need all this crap.”

Kurt looked affronted. “Hey, it’s not crap!”

Burt hummed in a way that let Kurt know ‘crap’ was a generous word for it. 

Kurt rolled his eyes. Still, he was only able to act petulant for a moment or two. “So, did everything I ordered come in?”

Burt laughed, shaking his head. “It did. Hate to break it to you, bud, but I think you might’ve gone a bit overboard.”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s our first Valentine’s Day together. And I know the distance has been hard for us both, but I think it’s a little harder on Blaine. I want to give him the perfect evening. Overboard was kind of the point.”

Burt hummed as he pulled onto the interstate. “You two still doing okay, then?”

Kurt nodded, smiling softly. “Better than okay. We’re really good. It’s hard, being apart. But we’re talking a lot more. Blaine’s keeping me up to date with the medical situation. He’s making a ton of progress. Last week, he said, like, three sentences without tripping up once. Of course, he was gushing about the Little Mermaid, so I don’t think he noticed, but it was huge.”

Burt nodded. “That’s great to hear, Kurt. I’m glad he’s still making progress. He’s a good kid.” He eyed the pile of stuff in the backseat. “You sure this is what you want to do for him? He tends to get overwhelmed, right?”

Kurt looked over the massive like in the backseat. “I mean, I know it’s a lot. But it’s one day. He deserves something fun and ridiculous for one day, doesn’t he? Besides, I think his mom exaggerates that. She’s the one that ends up overwhelmed way before Blaine, as long as nobody’s asking him a million questions in a row and getting annoyed when he takes his time to answer.” He took stock of what was there, checking it against the list in his head. “Hey, you didn’t pick up the cookies!”

Burt rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t driving into Columbus to pick up ‘artisan’ cookies- whatever the hell that means- that you’d then decide you hated because they weren’t yours, anyway. You can bake for him tomorrow. He’ll keep.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, though he knew his dad was right. He huffed out a breath. “Fine. But that means you’re going to have to help me bake tomorrow.”

Burt hummed his agreement, glancing over to Kurt with an amused smile on his face. “Of course, you know I expect you home by ten tonight. And if you want to bring him over, all the doors stay open.”

“Dad!” Kurt’s cheeks were bright red. “We’re not even close to anything that would make you worry. And besides, it’s not like he can get upstairs with the wheelchair. There aren’t any doors in the living room.”

Burt hummed, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Maybe so. But if I can’t give you crap today, kid, I’m failing as a parent.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, turning back to the pile in the backseat to make sure it was really all there. He’d spent three weeks planning the perfect Valentine’s Day surprise. He’d taken care of every detail. Blaine would be in his room, resting after PT. Kurt would arrive at his house and get to work. John was out of town again, and Pam had agreed to let him take over for the afternoon, so he wouldn’t be interrupted. By the time he was finished, the living room would be a Valentine’s Day paradise. He’d have the gifts (giant teddy hair, box of chocolates the size of Kurt’s head) artfully arranged on the armchair. The red carpet would be rolled out from Blaine’s door to a beautifully put together archway made of pink and white streamers. Rose petals would guide him, fairy lights would light the way. And standing at the archway would be Kurt, holding a dozen roses, beaming as Blaine rolled effortlessly toward him. It was the perfect fantasy. And soon, it’d be the perfect reality. 

An hour later, he was standing in front of Blaine’s front door. He knocked and took a half a step back, trying to balance everything he’d need, bags hanging off one arm and the massive teddy bear in the other. 

He’d been expecting Pam to look excited, or possibly annoyed. Instead, she looked exhausted as she eyed the teddy bear in his arms with a quiet sigh. Immediately, Kurt’s stomach fell, the dopey grin fading off his face. “What’s wrong? Is he okay? He’s here, right? He promised that he’d tell me if he ended up in the hospital. He’s not in the hospital, right?”

Pam lifted a hand to stop him. “He’s here. It’s nothing major. He’s had a migraine for most of the day. He had to skip PT because he wasn’t feeling well. I’m sorry that you made the trip for nothing.”

Blaine was sick. A migraine would put him out of commission for the rest of the night, at least. There was no way that he’d be able to go out to dinner, no chance that he could sit through a musical. Kurt swallowed hard as disappointment tore a hole in his stomach. Just like that, his Valentine’s plans evaporated.

Pam moved to close the door, but Kurt propped it open with the huge bear. “You aren’t going to let me see him?”

Pam shot him an unreadable look. “He’s lying in bed with the lights off. He’s not going to be up to going out tonight. I doubt he’ll even be able to leave the room.”

Kurt set his jaw, blinking more rapidly than he’d like. He had a reservation at a bistro downtown. They were going to have a seat on the heated patio in the moonlight. They’d hold hands, sample every dessert on the menu, be serenaded by the violinist who would be wandering around the tables (Kurt had called to make sure he’d be there). He shook his head to clear it. “Plans change. If he’s not up to going out, we’ll stay in.”

Pam’s eyebrow raised. For a moment, he thought she was still going to close the door in his face. “You know the way to his room.”

Kurt took a breath, picked up his things, and headed inside. 

Blaine’s room was dark, lit by only the filtered light coming through the curtains. Kurt closed the door carefully, quietly behind him. He eyed the lump on the bed, still and quiet. Blaine was hidden completely beneath the blankets. Kurt sighed quietly, then got to work, moving almost silently through the room. It would take Blaine a few moments to focus through the pain and ask what was going on. Kurt was going to take advantage. If he couldn’t have his perfect Valentine’s night, he could still do something for Blaine.

The sticky notes still covered the bed frame and the wall by Blaine’s bed. The wheelchair and walker were in their typical places. The walls were mostly bare, beyond the flat screen tv. Kurt could work with this.

He moved quickly, knowing that Blaine wouldn’t stay hidden forever. He set the teddy bear in Blaine’s armchair, where he could reach it easily. The chocolates went with it, cradled in the bear’s arms. He pulled a vase out of his bag and carried it to the bathroom to fill it. He didn’t have time to arrange the roses, but they were still beautiful as he set them on the roll-away table. Eyes fully adjusted, he started working with the Christmas lights, draping them around and over Blaine’s bed, careful not to step too close or make too much noise. Harsh light would make Blaine’s headache worse, but the fairy lights would give off a dim, warm glow.

“Mom?”

Kurt nodded at the lights, satisfied. They weren’t perfect, but they would do. He considered putting up the streamers, covering Blaine in rose petals, but that seemed a bit much. He needed to be restrained. For Blaine’s sake, if nothing else. 

He plugged in the strands of lights just as Blaine managed to poke his head out from under the blankets. He watched him wince a little, all bedhead and a confused expression. When his eyes finally focused and he could process what he was seeing, his brow furrowed. “Kurt?”

Kurt grinned. “That’s right, sleepyhead. Kurt.” He stepped toward the bed, reaching out to run his fingers through Blaine’s hair, fluffed up on one side and flattened on the other. He looked utterly befuddled, moving in slow motion. Kurt could practically see the gears grinding behind his forehead. It must have been a hell of a migraine.

“You’re here for- for- um, it’s-,” he groaned, closing his eyes, “it’s a- a holiday.”

“Valentine’s Day,” Kurt finished for him, working the tangles out of his hair carefully with his fingers. “We talked about it yesterday, remember?” 

Blaine had shown him the heart he’d made of sticky notes to remind himself, proud as could be. He’d had a list in his notebook of things he wanted to do. They’d talked about it half a dozen times over the past few weeks. Still, when he nodded, Kurt knew he was lying. He didn’t remember.

“You came- um, all this- this way.”

Kurt nodded, forcing a grin. “Yep. Just for our Valentine’s date.”

Blaine’s expression fell. “But I- I- my- my head, um,” he shot Kurt a helpless look. He couldn’t write in the dark, and his speech was a mess from the pain or whatever medications he’d taken.

“I know,” Kurt said quickly. Blaine wasn’t in any state to leave the house. Hell, he wasn’t in any state to leave the bed. Kurt chewed his lip, trying to figure out what to do. He could try to trade in the tickets for another night, but he wasn’t certain of the theater’s policy on returns. He could try to sell them, but that’d mean being on his phone, ignoring Blaine. He looked down at Blaine’s devastated expression, and everything became perfectly clear. “I know you’re not feeling well, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a date.” He leaned down and kissed Blaine’s forehead. “Scooch.”

Blaine blinked up at him, brow furrowed. 

“Come on, scoot over.”

Blaine did as he was told that time. Kurt leaned down, unzipped his boots, and pulled them off. He slipped off his tie and vest and set them carefully aside. He took a deep breath, nodded to himself, and climbed into bed beside Blaine. 

They’d never done this before. Kurt felt a momentary panic as he tried to figure out how exactly to arrange the million and a half limbs that seemed to suddenly be in the bed. What if Blaine didn’t want to be held? What if somehow, Kurt holding him made his headache worse? He forced himself to stop, huffing out a breath. “Is this okay?” When Blaine nodded, he pulled him in close, letting him pillow his head on Kurt’s chest. It was a little awkward, at first. But then Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt and held on tightly. Kurt grinned, one hand on Blaine’s arm around his waist, the other rubbing his back. He felt the tension melt out of Blaine’s back and shoulders as he sighed. The bed was warm, the room oddly romantic in the dim glow of the Christmas lights. 

Kurt smiled softly, letting go of the plans he’d had for the night. He had Blaine curled up in his arms. The tickets didn’t matter, not compared to that. “And to think, I thought I had the perfect first Valentine’s Day all planned,” he said quietly. 

Blaine’s voice was soft when he answered. “You aren’t, um-… disappointed?”

Kurt didn’t want to lie. He took his time. He’d felt disappointed when Pam had first told him that they wouldn’t be able to go. But though he was a little sad that he wouldn’t be able to surprise Blaine with the show, the disappointment had vanished. He shook his head. “Are you kidding? I get to spend my Valentine’s night in bed with the most perfect guy on the planet. Who could be disappointed by that?”

Blaine grinned, and the blush that lit him up was breathtaking. He shook his head slightly, clearly being careful not to move too much. “That position’s, um, already taken.”

Kurt laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Charmer.” He leaned down and gently kissed Blaine’s lips. It felt every bit as perfect as it had the first time. He pulled back, cupping Blaine’s cheek. 

“I’m really happy to be here with you,” he said softly. “That’s what I wanted for Valentine’s Day, more than anything. Just to be with the guy I care about so much.”

Blaine smiled up at him, eyes warm and soft and gorgeous. “I’m glad- um, too.”

Kurt held eye contact for a long moment, not saying anything more. They didn’t need to. Eventually, he guided Blaine back to his chest, slipping his fingers through his hair. He traced his thumb lightly over the scar at his hairline.

“It’s okay, hon, you can sleep if you need to. I’m not going anywhere.”

Blaine mumbled something that Kurt couldn’t quite understand as he settled. Maybe it was a speech issue. Maybe it was just the sort of sleepy mumbling that anyone could experience. Kurt started to hum as he felt Blaine melt into his chest, his breathing starting to deepen. Blaine needed his rest, and Kurt was happy to serve as a human body pillow. Humming transitioned to singing, Kurt’s voice quiet in the dimly lit room. 

_I don't get many things right the first time,_  
In fact, I am told that a lot  
Now I know all the wrong turns the stumbles,  
And falls brought me here  
And where was I before the day  
That I first saw your lovely face,  
Now I see it every day  
And I know  
That I am, I am, I am, the luckiest 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used is 'The Luckiest' by Ben Folds, one of my favorite love songs of all time.


	4. Strong Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for the love on the love chapter. It was one of my favorites, I'm not gonna lie. You were all so sweet, I'm glad you're enjoying our boys being together!
> 
> Onward and upward. Let's spend some time with Kurt in New York!

Kurt found his favorite coffee shop quickly. It was right down the street from the Vogue head office, only a five-minute walk. It was a tiny hole-in-the-wall called Dark Roast, the kind of shop full of cozy armchairs and beat-up sofas instead of industrial-style tables. The coffee was incredible, the staff was nice, and the wifi was free. 

A Tuesday afternoon was the perfect time to park for an afternoon and get some work done. He ordered his usual non-fat mocha and slipped into one of the armchairs with a little side table. He’d even managed to find one near an outlet. Laptop plugged in, coffee in hand, he set to work, losing himself for a few hours in the quiet shop. 

He jumped nearly a foot in the air when he heard someone clear their throat right in front of him. He looked up, eyes wide, heart pounding him his chest from being startled. The man in front of him was tall, with broad shoulders and an easy smile. He had shaggy, sandy-blonde hair and bright green eyes. He was wearing an amused expression, and Kurt realized he had his hand clutched over his heart like a 1950’s housewife who’d just seen a mouse. He cleared his throat.

“Hi,” he said, and if he was a little breathless, that was hardly his fault. 

“Hi.” His voice was deeper than Kurt had been expecting, a pleasant baritone. “Sorry to interrupt, but you looked like you could use a refill.” His eyes sparkled as he held out a bright blue mug. 

Something clicked in Kurt’s head and he breathed out a quiet laugh. He knew this guy. He’d taken his order every day for the past two weeks. “You’ve taken off your apron, I barely recognized you.” He reached for the mug, nodding. “Thanks. What do I owe you?”

The guy shook his head. “Really? The only memorable thing about me is the apron? And my mom told me I was special.” He held up a hand to stop Kurt from reaching for his wallet. “No charge. You’ve been staring at your laptop for so long that I decided you definitely need a break. The owner’s cool about regulars getting refills for free, occasionally.”

Kurt hummed. “I’m a regular already?”

“When you come in and park it for three hours, staring at your computer intensely enough to ward off at least three guys who were going to hit on you, you’re officially a regular.”

Kurt blinked. He hadn’t noticed anyone approaching his little corner of the café. He certainly hadn’t noticed anyone who might’ve been coming up to talk to him. Much less anything else. He shook his head. “Pretty sure you misread that one. Besides, I’ve got resting bitch face. Of course, that’s a natural consequence of being a an actual bitch, so I hardly mind.”

The guy laughed and held out his hand. “Well, your resting bitch face doesn’t scare me off. I’m Charlie.”

Kurt shook Charlie’s hand with a smile. “Kurt. Nice to meet you.” He sipped gratefully at his coffee, wondering if he was really right about people trying to approach him. He wasn’t interested, of course. He had Blaine. But being approached like that in public wasn’t something he’d ever expected to happen. “Not a bad mocha, really.”

Charlie winked, leaning in conspiratorially. “Hey, there’s a reason you come in so often, right?” He nodded to Kurt’s computer. “So what’s your story? Focus like that, you must be doing something important. Aspiring author? Blogger with a focus on the day-to-day fluctuations of mocha quality? Professional stalker who’s really bad at his job?”

Kurt laughed, shaking his head. “None of the above, actually. I have a blog, but it’s definitely not my day job. I was working on some copy editing for work. I have two roommates, one of whom sings at the top of her lungs all day and night. Makes it a little bit hard to get any work done.”

Charlie winced in sympathy. “I get that. I live with about a million cats, none of them mine. The meowing is enough to drive a guy crazy.”

Kurt let out a low whistle. “Sounds even worse than mine. Though I guess yours will shut up if you spray them with water.”

Charlie hummed, considering. “You know, you could always try it on the roommate. At the very least, she’s going to be very confused about why she’s suddenly damp.” He glanced at Kurt’s screen and raised an eyebrow. “Though I guess we’re past that stage, if you’re already looking for somewhere new to live.”

Kurt looked at the apartment hunting website displayed on his laptop and smiled. “No, actually. My boyfriend’s moving up here sometime soon, and we’re going to move in together.”

Charlie let out a knowing sigh. “Doing the long-distance thing. Been there.” He shook his head. “We didn’t make it long. Turns out flights are expensive and phone calls only do so much.”

Kurt shook his head. “Not a problem for us. I go back home a lot. Work lets me, so it’s a pretty good deal. And, of course, I call him constantly, we skype, text. We’re really good at keeping in contact.”

“Mhmm. We started out that way, too. Though I’m glad you were able to work out trips home with your work. That’ll probably help a lot. I think I made it home about twice in the three months we were still together.” He nodded to Kurt’s screen. “Does he not want to live with roommates or something when he gets here? Probably cheaper to stay with the wailing roomie, at least for the first month or two.”

Kurt hesitated, glancing back at his screen, full of ADA-complaint, wheelchair accessible apartments. “We just want our own space.” He knew Blaine was planning on walking before he made the move, but Kurt knew that it wasn’t realistic to think he’d be completely independent. Besides, he’d rather be prepared with options that would work for Blaine no matter what his ambulatory status. Best case scenario, they wouldn’t even need the accommodation. He cleared his throat and glanced at the time on his phone. “Thank you for the coffee, but I should get going. We’ve got a Skype session in half an hour I want to be home for.”

Charlie nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll put the rest of the coffee in a to-go cup for you. I stand by what I said about you needing a refill. Looking for housing in this city means you need it twice as much.”

Kurt nodded, thanking him as he disappeared behind the counter. He looked back at his laptop. Sure, it would be cheaper to stay with Rachel and Cody, at least for a while, but it wasn’t practical. They were just going to have to find a way to make it work with one income. 

He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of his text alert. He grinned when he saw Blaine’s name on the screen, and the smile only widened as he caught a glimpse of the picture he’d sent. Blaine and Alex were both wearing brightly colored bike helmets, sitting in wheelchairs at the end of a hallway. Whoever was holding the camera was also holding a flag made of a pencil and medical tape. The picture was captioned ‘before’. His phone buzzed again and he laughed. In this one, Alex had an arm thrown around Blaine’s shoulders, they both had serious hat hair, and Blaine looked sweaty and exhausted. Still, he was grinning, holding up a little army man who had been spray painted yellow. Gauze was draped across Blaine’s lap and the chair. A text came through right after. 

This is the after pictre. I won! The little guy is my trop hy. There was even a fnishing tape!

Kurt spent longer than he wanted to admit admiring that grin on Blaine’s face. He only managed to shake himself out of it when he spotted Charlie coming back with his coffee. 

I’m proud of you, hon. Tell Alex that next time I expect a video. Can’t wait to talk to you in a few!

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said as he stood, slipping his laptop into his bag.

Charlie nodded to him. “Tell the boyfriend I say hi. Good luck with the apartment search! I’ll see you the next time you need your caffeine fix.” 

Kurt grinned, walking out with a surprisingly full coffee cup. Charlie must’ve been feeling generous. Between that and his Skype date with Blaine, his day was looking up,

Kurt couldn’t stop laughing. “He didn’t!”

“He, um, did!” Blaine insisted, grinning through the screen. “He told my, um, my... mom. Told her it was good for my, um, recovery.”

Kurt snorted. “How is having a massive ice cream sundae for dinner good for anyone?”

Blaine shrugged. “Working on, um, thermal sensitivity?” he suggested, beaming. 

Kurt shook his head, clearly amused. “That one you don’t have any trouble remembering?”

Blaine rolled his eyes, though his grin didn’t fade. He typed for a moment before huffing out a frustrated breath and reaching for his journal instead. 

Kurt made a face. “Still having trouble with the keyboard?”

Blaine sighed, writing a moment longer. “I swear, the keys rearrange themselves. I know I’m on the right ones, but I look up and it’s gibberish.” He pouted at Kurt through the screen. “I’m doomed to handwritten notes forever.”

Kurt grinned. “Hey, I think it’s romantic. Notes in my boyfriend’s handwriting? I’m like a character in a Victorian romance novel.”

Blaine chuckled softly, writing a little more. “Maybe so. I’ll sweep you off your feet and into a carriage. Lay my coat over a puddle on the street. But only if you promise to swoon.”

“Oh, you’re very swoon-worthy, Mr. Anderson.” He eyed Blaine over for a long moment. He looked good. He had a beanie pulled down over his curls, which was a shame, but his cheeks had a little color and his eyes were sparkling. Being around Alex was good for him, even if it contributed to the circles still present under his eyes. Blaine was such a social guy, it must be driving him nuts to spending so much time alone. “How are you feeling?”

He watched Blaine’s expression. Annoyance, then a sort of calm resignation. Kurt knew he hated talking about the medical stuff, but they couldn’t avoid it. They’d tried keeping it all bottled up, it had been a disaster. This way worked.

He wrote briefly. “Little seizure yesterday. Just an absence one, no flailing of limbs.”

Kurt frowned. “I thought the medication was working.”

Blaine shrugged. “It is. It’s- um, just sort of a- a thing.”

Kurt hummed. “Maybe they need to adjust the dosage again.” He wished he was there. These conversations were easier when he could hold Blaine’s hand, remind him that he was more than just this medical crap. “Will you talk to your doctor about it, please?”

Blaine nodded. “Yeah.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “You gonna write that down?”

Blaine rolled his eyes, wrote very deliberately on a sticky, and held it up for Kurt to see. 

“I know it’s not your favorite thing, I just worry about seizures. They’re kind of terrifying. And adjusting your meds is normal with the whole epilepsy thing. I mean, this is a new medication, right? So he was going to start you out low and then sort of increase it, if you needed it. If you’re still seizing, you need it,” he trailed off, catching Blaine’s eye. He was trying very hard to look annoyed, hiding a smile behind his hand. “What?”

Blaine stopped fighting it and let the grin spread over his face, writing in his notebook. “You’ve done so much research, it’s really sweet.”

Kurt flushed, but kept looking at Blaine. “I care about you,” he said quietly. “And this is the reality. I just want to know so I can help.”

Blaine’s expression sobered a little bit at the reminder. This was the way their relationship had to be, at least for a while. He reached out to touch the screen. “Thank you.”

Kurt nodded, reaching for his own screen. He couldn’t see Blaine’s hand, but he could pretend. If he tried hard enough, he could almost imagine the warm press of Blaine’s palm against his own. He swallowed hard, but didn’t let his expression drop. He could miss Blaine later, privately, where it wouldn’t cause both of them to be a mess. “I should go, I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. But I’ll talk to you again soon.”

“Goodnight, Kurt,” Blaine said softly. 

“Goodnight, Blaine.”


	5. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter! Y'all made my day, I won't lie. I adore reading comments, so please feel free to keep them coming!
> 
> I wanted to take a different tactic with this chapter. We're taking a deep dive into John. I hope this comes across the way that I intend. Let me know what you think!

John was sitting in the kitchen, eating his breakfast and reading the paper. He’d had the same morning routine since Blaine was first born, at least when he was home. A banana, a hard-boiled egg, and a cup of coffee, all while reading the local paper. He knew most people liked to read their news online these days, but there was something almost sacred about the feeling of that thin paper in his hands. Peace, quiet, and breakfast. He sighed, almost smiling as he picked up his coffee.

The silence was broken by the door opening to Blaine’s room and the sound of the wheelchair squeaking its way over the hardwood floors. He held back a sigh for a different reason. That incessant squeaking was going to drive him insane. They needed to get a runner or something to protect the wood. Handicap-accessible home, his ass. Only if they were all deaf, too. He lifted a brow at the sound of Blaine’s voice. 

“No, his name is- is- is Barry.”

A pause. John’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t heard of anyone named Barry. If Blaine had yet another boyfriend, John was going to lose his mind.

“I know it’s- um... her last name. But he’s already got a - a, um, a sticky!”

His speech wasn’t exactly fluid, but it sounded more absentminded than panicked. He sounded relaxed, compared to how he sounded when speaking to Pam or John. Even the pauses seemed more fluid, almost a natural break in his speech. Almost. Still, he remembered the kid who had never stopped speaking, always droning on in rambling sentences about some new musical or film.

“Uh huh, promise. Alex wants to- um, meet him.”

Not Alex, then. Blaine only had so many people to talk to. John sighed as he realized Blaine must be talking to that boy again. He stood and walked to the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, arms crossed. His breakfast was already interrupted, and he’d been planning on having this conversation since returning from his business trip.

Blaine’s back was to him. He was pushing himself slowly across the room, the squeak maddening. He was speaking into the Bluetooth headset in his ear. John still didn’t know why Pam had insisted on buying that thing. It wasn’t as though he needed to be on the phone all that often, and certainly not while wheeling around. His focus should be on his physical therapy, regaining the strength he needed to walk, not on some petty distraction

Blaine stopped at the piano, hesitating before pulling himself square to the keys. 

John hadn’t seen him at the piano in a long time. Once, Blaine had been obnoxious, practicing at all hours, dissonant chords ringing out right as John was attempting to fall asleep, off-beat melodies played in the early hours of a Saturday morning. He’d never had the discipline to practice his scales, but he’d play Disney songs and pop ballads until John had to chase him out of the room with the threat of grounding. He would get lost for hours, playing the same song over and over again until John’s ears were practically bleeding. John had prayed for all the piano strings to snap and end his torment.

The day after the accident, Pam had shut the wooden cover over the keys to protect them until Blaine came home. So it had remained for the past three years. There hadn’t been a single note, a single run. The silence had been filled at first with visiting relatives, concerned friends. Then the sound of John’s voice and Pam’s, heated conversations, arguments, fights. And then, as days turned to weeks turned to months and years, nothing. Stillness. Silence. 

Something stirred in his chest as Blaine opened the lid, dusty keys exposed for the first time in what felt like ages. His fingers hovered over the keys. In John’s head, he could almost hear the opening chords of Beauty and the Beast. Blaine’s fingers made contact. One solitary note floated up into the stillness of the room. That thing in John’s chest clenched. 

“What? Oh- um, no. Just… just the tv.”

His hands fell back to his lap. John wasn’t disappointed. Of course not. It was better this way. He had to work from home this morning; listening to Blaine play would be an annoyance and a distraction he couldn’t afford. He had important clients to speak with. Better that the piano remain silent. He ignored the slight twist in his stomach at the thought.

“I know, I know. Pictures. I- um,” a long pause. Whatever word Blaine was looking for was gone. “Swear?” 

Kurt’s response must have been entertaining. Blaine laughed in a way that was completely unaffected, the sound filling the room like music.

John watched his son’s body language. He knew Blaine had been happier since Kurt’s visit. He’d had fewer bad days. He’d been making progress with his physical therapy. Even now, he was sitting straighter in his chair, idly rolling back and forth underneath the piano. A month ago, that would have exhausted him. Now, he could maintain a conversation while moving. His speech had even improved, or so the very expensive specialist had told them. Still, there were rules in the house. Rules that stood, regardless of whether Blaine’s crush was good for him. He shook himself out of his reverie, clearing his throat.

“Blaine.”

He saw the way his shoulders stiffened. Blaine turned to face John slowly in his chair, meeting his eyes. 

“I’ve got to- um, uh, go, Kurt.”

Whatever laughter had been in Blaine’s face before he’d turned was gone. He was eyeing John warily, dreading the conversation they were about to have. John mentally prepared himself to be the villain yet again in his son’s life. But this was about safety, about keeping Blaine from putting too much energy into someone who was a million miles away. He’d thank him one day, when he figured all of this out and moved on.

Blaine pulled the Bluetooth earpiece from his ear, maintaining cautious eye contact. “Hi, Dad.”

John nodded. “I need to talk with you about the situation with your-… friend.”

The light dimmed somewhat in Blaine’s eyes, and he sighed as though John had said something offensive. “Kurt,” he corrected firmly. “His name is Kurt, and he’s my- my,” his nose wrinkled, jaw setting. He’d worn the same expression when he was two years old and throwing a tantrum. That weight in John’s chest clenched again as he waved the word away.

“Whatever he is to you, we need to discuss what happened over Valentine’s Day.” Blaine’s crush or fling or whatever he was would be gone sooner than later. A long-distance relationship was utterly impractical, with Blaine’s limitations. He couldn’t travel, and Kurt would stop coming around soon enough. It was only a matter of time. 

Blaine looked him in the eye, eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for him to continue. 

John’s expression turned steely. “You two were in your bedroom, alone, with the door closed, for most of Valentine’s night. I know you weren’t feeling well. Your mother told me it had been a bad day. Why she ever let him into your room, I’ll never know. You should have been resting, not doing whatever it is you two were doing. I realize that you two are… involved, but you can’t risk your health for the sake of keeping him around, Blaine.”

Blaine’s jaw set. “We’re not- not- um, /involved/. He’s my- um-,” jaw set again, eyebrow twitching, “boyfriend.”

John waved the word away. “Whatever he is to you, it’s utterly inappropriate for the two of you to be behind a closed door in my house.” 

Blaine crossed his arms, echoing John’s posture. “Would you- um, would you think the same if he… if he was a girl?”

“If he were a girl,” John corrected automatically, “And that’s immaterial. Boy or girl, you were alone in your bedroom with someone.”

“You just said I was- I was having a bad- um, day. So what do you think we were- um, doing?”

“That’s exactly my point, Blaine. Whatever you were doing was inappropriate, regardless of my feelings on the matter. You should have been resting. You know what can happen when you don’t get enough rest. Do you really want to put your mother through that again?” Blaine’s seizure medication hadn’t been as effective lately. If he didn’t get enough sleep, he was likely to have an episode. Pam was terrified to take him anywhere, to let him stay up past eight, afraid of seeing their son like that again. 

Blaine at least had the decency to look chagrined, breaking eye contact. He took a breath and blew it out. “I was- I was- um- I was resting.”

John only hummed. “A teenage boy flew from New York to Ohio to rest with you in your bedroom.” His tone was cold, matter-of-fact, highlighting the absurdity of his statement.

“He was,” Blaine said firmly, though he wasn’t making eye contact. “He was- was helping. I had a- a- a-,” his jaw twitched as he closed his eyes and fought to get the word out. “Um, headache! And he- he helped.”

“He’s not your doctor. What could he possibly have done to help? The rules are there for a reason, Blaine.” He shook his head, taking a step further into the room, closer to his son. “I know that you two have been out in public. I know that you’ve gone to dinner in town. I know you’ve been seen by people in the community. It’s been brought up at work a time or two. I know that a few weeks ago, you had a panic attack because you were in a grocery store. After everything that’s happened, I don’t understand it, Blaine. Why on earth you would risk being seen in public with him? Haven’t you been through enough? Haven’t we all been through enough?”

Blaine swallowed hard, and when he looked up again, there was something in his eyes that made John’s chest ache. He hated to force Blaine to remember what had happened to him. But if it kept his son safe, he would mention it every day for the rest of his life. Blaine’s hands were shaking as he reached into the pocket of his wheelchair and grabbed out a notebook and a pen. He wrote for long enough to try John’s patience. When he was done, he set down the pen, took a deep breath, and spoke. 

“Kurt doesn’t push me to do anything. I go with him to dinner because I want to. We’re careful. We don’t do PDA. He would never push me into anything like that. He knows what it’s like to be afraid of being who he is in public. But if we wanted to show affection, then we should be able to. Other people’s reactions aren’t our fault. They aren’t my fault. If someone chose to try to-,” his voice faltered, even while reading, “try to hurt us, that wouldn’t be my responsibility. Or his. Just like it wasn’t on me the first time around. And for the record, my panic attack had nothing to do with being in public. I saw someone from my old school.” He cleared his throat. “As for Kurt being in my room, I did sleep. He helped me feel better. I had a headache. He had a date all planned, and instead of giving up on me because my health was inconvenient, he changed plans to something I could do.” He looked up to meet John’s eyes. “He treated me like a person.” He looked back to the notebook. “I’m not going to break up with Kurt because I’m scared of what happened before happening again. I’m not going to live my life like that. Afraid all the time. And I’m not going to leave the door open to light and sound when my head feels like it’s exploding. I can make my own decisions about what’s good for me. Kurt is good for me.”

John raised an eyebrow. It was more than Blaine had said to him since the accident. It may have been more than he’d said since the day he’d come out. Blaine’s speech that day had been far more practiced, more deliberate, but every bit as emotional. John had responded by informing him that coming out publicly was a terrible idea. He stood by that statement. It was the reason they were in this mess. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that was unknowingly similar to the one his son used all the time. “I realize that it’s far simpler for you to think I’m being an ass than to realize the truth. I’m trying to protect you. Both of you. Kurt is in New York, where a man can act the way he does and not even receive a strange look. Do you think he’s really going to modify his behavior when he’s here? He has a life there, Blaine, one where he can choose to surround himself by the sorts of people who aren’t bothered by him. You need to be realistic in your expectations of him. And realistic in your expectations of the community, here. You aren’t safe, Blaine. I would have thought that was obvious.” 

John watched Blaine crumple as he spoke, hating the harm he was doing and knowing it was necessary. He was kind enough not to mention the fact that Kurt likely already had someone in New York. Blaine would discover that the distance wouldn’t work, in time. In the meantime, he needed to worry about his own safety. If that meant pointing out that Kurt was more likely to be hurt than he was, so be it. 

He watched Blaine take a careful breath, gathering himself. “Then it’s a good... good thing I won’t be- um, here that much longer.”

John opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. They hadn’t discussed what would happen next, when Blaine could function more fully. He knew what Blaine wanted. It was obvious in every conversation they’d had, or he’d overheard between Blaine and his mother. Kurt was putting ideas in his head. He sighed quietly, shaking his head. “Someday, you may be able to leave this place, Blaine. But for now, you need to be careful, if you want to be remotely safe. And follow the rules of the house. Believe what you will, but I am trying to protect you. This once, I’ll let it slide. Your mother made the decision to let him back. Act inappropriately again, and I’ll take your cell phone for a month.”

He expected Blaine to be upset with him. Instead, he looked disappointed. Blaine could feel however he liked. John’s rules would keep him from getting himself killed before he had the chance to experience his life.

John watched as Blaine gave a curt nod and started wheeling himself away, eyes on the floor, the steady squeak-squeak-squeak of the wheels his only accompaniment. The door closed behind Blaine, and John was alone again. He returned to the kitchen and tossed out the rest of his breakfast. He stood at the sink, sighing to himself. He only wanted what was best for his son. If Blaine could only see that, they’d both be better off.

From the living room, he could hear the ghost of a melody, harmonies building to a glowing crescendo. But it was all in his head. 

The house remained silent.


	6. March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your opinions on John! I know he can be a bit much, but hopefully seeing our boys together will make you feel a bit better.
> 
> Thank you as always for reading, commenting, sending kudos, everything that you do that keeps a fanfic author happy. You are the reason that this chapter is coming out tonight. I just came home from a weekend out of town, and I was planning on waiting to edit and post until tomorrow. Then I read all of your lovely comments from the last chapter and decided that I couldn't keep you waiting!
> 
> Enjoy!

Kurt was getting used to the flight. He spent the time writing for his blog or editing for work. It wasn’t exactly an easy way to get a few hours in, but it helped make up for the days he was taking off every few weekends. He’d underestimated how difficult it would be to plan around all the time he had to take off. At least the flights were paid for. He was rapidly realizing that his job at the tire shop hadn’t paid enough to maintain the New York lifestyle of his dreams, even with two roommates. When he and Blaine were on their own, things were going to be more difficult. His internship, though paid, was definitely not helping as much as he’d have liked. He was burning through his savings quickly. Still, he was glad to be going home to Blaine. He just needed to figure out how he was going to make all of this work. 

The plane landed and he tried not to die of frustration as the woman in the aisle seat packed up her laptop, snacks, water bottle, headphones, and anything else she had clearly needed for a sub 2-hour flight. He checked his phone and answered a text from his boss as he managed to squeeze around her. Apparently, one of the copywriters had dropped the ball on an article about pumps and they were trying to fill in the gaps. He forced himself to respond with a no and shove the phone back into his pocket. It was an opportunity, but he wouldn’t have time to write. He was here to see Blaine. He was here to spend time with Blaine and his dad and keep things on track at home. Vogue would have to wait. 

Carry-on in hand, he stepped out of the plane and headed for the pickup area. 

By the time he made it to his dad’s car, he’d almost managed to forget about what he was missing. Almost. He hugged him over the center console with a huff of air and a grin. 

“You alright, kiddo?” 

Kurt nodded, trying to get comfortable in the seat. “Of course. Just not a great flight, this time around.”

Burt nodded. “I can’t imagine flying as often as you are, these days,” he said as he pulled into traffic. 

Kurt’s phone beeped again. He dug it out of his pocket and opened another text from Isabelle. Jason was going to be their temporary copywriter. Jason, whose fashion sense was so tragic that Kurt had started packing emergency accessories to save his outfits should anyone important stop by. Jason, who couldn’t even recognize the iconic red of a Louboutin sole. He took a breath and let it out slowly. It would be fine. One sub-par article wasn’t going to kill the online magazine. And even if it did, he was only an intern. It really wasn’t his problem. If Jason wrote an entire article about Jimmy Choos featuring a payless boot, it would be someone else’s cross to bear, this weekend.

“Kurt?”

Kurt jumped a little. “What? Sorry, I just-,” he shook his head and put the phone away. “Sorry. One of the other interns is getting a chance to write something for the website. An article. Part of an article. The guy who’s doing it is… well, he’s tragic. But it’ll be fine. Isabelle’s an amazing editor. If he can get her something, she can at least turn it into an opinion piece.” Or maybe a guide on how to explain fashion to idiots.

Burt raised an eyebrow. “You sure you should be here this weekend? Sounds like this is the sort of opportunity you’d normally jump at.”

Kurt bit his lip, took a breath, and centered himself. “I need to be here this weekend. I told Blaine ages ago that I’d be here, and an emergency at the website doesn’t change that. Besides, I’m excited to see him. It’s been a little more than a month. He’s been working hard at PT. He’s actually starting to pull ahead in the wheelchair races without Alex letting him win. Well, maybe not pull ahead. But he’s a lot closer to breaking even.” He grinned at the memory of the last video he’d been sent. “You should see him, Dad. He’s so much stronger than he was.”

Burt hid a smile of his own, nodding. “Well, I’ll never complain about having you home, you know that. When are you getting to see him?”

Kurt grinned. “Tonight. I just have to change and get ready, and then I’m headed off to dinner with him. He picked the spot for us, he’s been so excited. He even made the phone call for the reservation.” For Blaine, it had been huge. Kurt had been on Skype when he’d made the call, as moral support. He’d been amazing. He’d only had to look at the script he’d written himself twice.

Burt hummed. “Good. I’m happy for you two. Home by midnight, you know the drill. And give him an extra hug from me, yeah?”

Kurt agreed with an easy smile, ignoring his phone chiming again in his pocket. He was here for Blaine. Everything else was just going to have to wait. 

Kurt was late. He’d done his best. Really, he had. But Jason had texted him a picture of a pair of brick red pumps he wanted to feature. Brick red. In March. The text had come through just as they’d pulled into the house at 5. The reservation wasn’t until 7; he should have been fine. But one question turned into five turned into twenty. He’d practically dictated the article to Jason, word for word. By the time he managed to text Blaine that he was on his way, it was 7:22. 

He was lucky. The restaurant Blaine had chosen was closer to Lima than Westerville. The traffic was light, given the time of day. He breezed through most of the red lights. Even with everything on his side, it took him twenty minutes to get there. He huffed out a breath as he pulled into the lot of the restaurant, barely even managing to slam the car into park before scrambling out and half jogging to the door. He gave the hostess his name and practically pushed past her. He could see Blaine from the front door. Blaine, who would never say a word about being sat in the middle of the restaurant, even though it meant people would stare. Blaine, whose head was down, trying to avoid eye contact with the world. Kurt’s stomach twisted when he realized that he was on his own. He must’ve convinced Pam to leave him there with the assurance that Kurt would be there soon. He’d left him waiting for 45 minutes alone. Anything could have happened. Kurt walked a bit more quickly toward his boyfriend. He couldn’t do anything about the table now, not without drawing more attention to Blaine, but he could distract him from it. 

“Blaine!” He sat down across the table and reached for his hand, wincing when he pulled back. Right. PDA. He glanced around the restaurant. Not too many kids; most of the people around weren’t paying them any attention at all. No one was pointing and staring, something that unfortunately had happened the last time they’d been out to grab a meal. “I’m sorry I was late, there was this emergency on one of the articles that has to be out this weekend and I-,” he cut himself off when he finally got a good look at Blaine. 

He’d expected upset, frustration, maybe even anger. Instead, he was met with a grim sort of determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw. “Blaine? Are you okay?”

Blaine nodded. He took a breath and reached for Kurt’s hand. Kurt immediately closed the distance between them, trying to warm Blaine’s cold hand with his own. He noted the mixed signal from a moment before, but didn’t comment. With Blaine’s history, a little vacillation on affection in public was to be expected. “What’s going on?” 

Blaine was quiet for a long moment, eyes closed, concentrating on what he was going to say. 

“It’s okay you were late.” His voice was more steady than Kurt had been expecting. He relaxed marginally when he realized that they weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

Kurt smiled softly and squeezed his hand. “It’s not, but I appreciate you saying it is anyway.” Blaine’s expression didn’t change. There was clearly more he wanted to say.

Blaine shook his head. “I was... I was- um, scared.” He looked up and met Kurt’s eyes. “I don’t want to be scared.”

Kurt’s brow furrowed. He understood why Blaine would be scared, alone and vulnerable in a restaurant. People stared at the chair. Maybe the waiter had asked questions he didn’t have answers for in his book. He could have even ended up in the hospital, if anything had happened. “It’s okay to be scared,” he said softly. “It’s always okay to be scared. I wish you weren’t; I wish you didn’t have to be, but it doesn’t make you weak or anything.”

He didn’t think the words registered. Blaine was listening, but he didn’t seem to be processing Kurt’s words, too focused on his own. All Kurt could do was wait for whatever Blaine was putting together in his head. He waved the waitress off when she tried to come by for their drink order, all his focus on Blaine. 

“I want... to be- um, safe.” He took a calming breath. “But I want to be... safe with, um, you.” 

Kurt’s eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline. “You are safe with me, honey, always. Are you-Do you not feel safe with me?” He wanted it to sound calm, mature, the lead-in to a conversation. Instead, it came out squeakier than he could be proud of as he tried to hold back panic. The thought of Blaine not feeling safe when they were together was utterly mortifying.

Blaine shook his head hard and squeezed Kurt’s hand, expression apologetic. “Not what I- um,” his nose wrinkled the way it did when he started to get frustrated with the limitations on his speech, “um-, meant.”

Kurt ran his thumb along the back of Blaine’s hand, calming slightly. “So you do feel safe when you’re with me?”

Blaine immediately nodded, no hesitation, full eye contact. Kurt hummed and took a breath. “Okay, so what did you mean?”

“Safe /with/ you.”

Kurt frowned slightly, not understanding. 

“In- um, in- in New York.”

Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand, schooling his expression as he realized what he was saying. He licked his lips, tilting his head to make eye contact again. “Of course,” he said gently. “I’ve already started scoping out apartments. As soon as you’re ready, I’ll find us a place.”

Blaine shook his head. “Now.”

The determination in his eyes broke Kurt’s heart. He shifted to hold Blaine’s hand in both of his own. “That’s what I want, too. Of course, it is. But we can’t, Blaine. You haven’t been medically cleared to travel, much less move five hundred miles away from your neurologist. They’re still adjusting your epilepsy meds, you’re still getting headaches that keep you from doing much of anything.” He watched Blaine’s expression fall more and more with every statement, his bottom lip trembling. “I want you with me in New York more than I can possibly say. You’re going to love it there. I promise to show you everything there is to see, but we have to wait.”

There were tears in Blaine’s eyes, his jaw jutting out as he tried to hold himself together in public. Kurt squeezed a little tighter, wishing they were at Blaine’s house where he could hold him. 

“It’s not a no forever. It’s a hell yes as soon as it’s safe for you. Not being with you kills me, but the thought of you not getting better is worse. Besides, what about Alex? What about your mom?”

Blaine wiped at his eyes with his free hand. 

“I know,” Kurt said softly. “I know it’s hard. I miss you so much. It makes me crazy that I’m living the dream while you’re trapped in Ohio, but it’ll happen before you know it.”

Blaine huffed out a breath. “But I- I- I want- I-“

Kurt hated hearing him struggle so much. He wasn’t panicking, which almost made this worse. It was like his sadness was stealing his words away. “You know, I found this apartment in Jersey that might be perfect for us. I mean, it’s in Jersey. But it’s about half the price of something in New York, and it’s twice the size. Giant windows, lots of natural light. A huge wall to cover in sticky notes. Do you want to see?”

Blaine didn’t look up, hand clutching at Kurt’s like a lifeline. 

Kurt kept Blaine’s hand in one of his own while digging his phone out of his pocket. He ignored the dozen notifications from work and pulled up one of his saved apartment searches. “See, I have this app that has all of these listings and I can filter by all sorts of stuff. This is one of the ones that stood out.” He set the phone on the table, tilted toward Blaine. He didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic at first, though he swiped through the pictures. 

“Its... beautiful,” he said eventually, voice soft.

Kurt nodded. “It’s not the only one. There are tons of apartments in New York. Places that will really work for us. That have the right- uh, well, that have the right accommodations.” He caught Blaine’s flinch and powered through. “Though I’m looking for all kinds of things. Access to busses and subway stations,” handicap accessible subway stations, “windows, kitchen size. Did you know that the three of us in my current apartment are all sharing a single burner? It’s insane.”

He caught a quiet snort from Blaine and smiled, trying to catch his eye. Blaine was staring very determinedly at the two of their hands on the table. 

“I can start sending them to you. You can let me know what you like and what you don’t. We can build a list together. And when you’re cleared, the absolute second that your doctor says you’re ready, we’ll pack you up. This way, it’ll be perfect. Something we picked out together, just for us.”

Blane sniffed very quietly, finally looking up. “You- um, promise?”

Kurt nodded immediately. He didn’t even have to think about it. “I promise. It’ll be here so soon, Blaine.” He had a sinking suspicion that no matter how quickly it happened, it wouldn’t be soon enough.


	7. Solutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the sweet comments on the last chapter!
> 
> I'm excited to see your opinions on the next few. I'm changing some things up from my original draft, and I'm pretty stoked!

Kurt needed money. 

That was the main problem. The internship with Vogue was paid (thank the universe), but it was still only an intern’s salary. He was living with two roommates, which helped with expenses, but that situation wasn’t permanent. Rachel and Cody (the roommate Kurt had helped interview ages ago) were great, but they weren’t Blaine. Blaine couldn’t move into their fifth floor walk-up. So, Kurt needed to be able to afford an apartment that was wheelchair accessible and near wheelchair accessible subway stations. 

Therefore: money. 

He glanced up at his wall, covered in sticky notes in neat rows. He was making a calendar out of them, each note from his Christmas present representing one day. In the end, it would be a reminder of every day that they’d been apart but kept themselves together. Today’s note was sweet, though it made his stomach twist. ‘I’ll be there with you soon. -B’. He wanted Blaine in New York more than anything. But he had to be ready. 

He’d considered working at the diner with Rachel, but spending yet more time with his sometimes best friend, sometimes annoying roommate didn’t appeal. Besides, they weren’t hiring. So he went to his home-away-from-home. 

“Kurt.” Charlie was smiling. Kurt could tell without even looking up from the text on his phone. 

He grinned as he lifted his eyes, taking his mocha gratefully. “You know, a guy could get used to fresh-brewed coffee without even having to order.”

Charlie laughed and nodded. “Hey, perks of being a frequent flier.”

He groaned. “Ugh, don’t mention flying. Or airplanes. Or eighty-year-old women who for some reason can’t comprehend the small bottles in clear baggies thing.”

Charlie chuckled as he rang him up. “Another trip to see the boyfriend?”

Kurt nodded. “I love visiting him, but the process is obnoxious. You know it’s a minimum of a 6-hour travel day just to get to him? And then the same thing in reverse on the way back, it’s a nightmare.”

“You’re more dedicated than me. I would’ve told his lazy ass to come out here. Ohio isn’t nearly as interesting as New York, anyway.”

Kurt hummed. He hadn’t told Charlie about Blaine’s situation. It was private, and they weren’t all that close. Blaine wouldn’t want a random stranger knowing about the challenges he faced when he’d taken ages to tell Kurt. “He’ll get here eventually.”

“When he moves. So you keep saying. How’s the apartment hunt?”

Kurt handed his card over, biting his lip. “Actually...,” he trailed off, shooting Charlie his biggest smile. 

Charlie raised an eyebrow as he handed over Kurt’s receipt. “Now that is a look. What’s up?”

Kurt grinned a little nervously. “So, I’m working for Vogue, and that’s great. Wonderful, even. But I’m going to have to be able to afford a new apartment soon, and since you already take so much of my money anyway...”

Charlie rolled his eyes and laughed. “Give me your resume, goober. I’ll talk to the boss.” He shook his head as he looked Kurt over. “You’re lucky that you’re cute and we’re hiring.”

Kurt’s eyes lit up as he pulled a pristine resume from his bag and handed it over. “You are the best! Thank you for trying, even if it doesn’t work out.”

Charlie hummed. “Take your mocha and go pine over fancy penthouses,” he said with a wink. 

Kurt took his coffee with an exaggerated grin and headed over to his favorite chair. He typed out a message to Blaine as he settled in. 

_You may be talking to New York City’s newest barista. Just handed in my resume. Wish me luck!_

The response took a while. 

**Oh, Kurt, my dearest, I’m terrified that your newfound job may take you away from me! Promise that it won’t interfere with our love affair, that our deep conversations will still last through the night! Oh, woe is me! **

And immediately after:

**That was Alex. Curently attacking him with a pill ow. I’m super proud of uou! Did you tell me you were gona get a 2nd job? **

Kurt was about to reply when Charlie came to the table. 

“You’re in luck. Boss man is in. He likes your resume and your moxie, whatever the hell that means. When can you start?”

Kurt grinned. “Tomorrow? Let me get you my Vogue schedule so we can all work around each other.” His smile softened into something more real. “Thank you, Charlie. Really. You have no idea how much I need this.”

Charlie shot Kurt an answering smile and gently squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.” He handed over a slip of paper with his number on it. “Shoot me a message when you know your schedule. I help the owner with the shifts. He’s super chill and pretty hands off, so working around Vogue won’t be an issue as long as I know about it.”

Kurt thanked him as he slipped the paper into his pocket. He could do this. Two jobs, Skype calls every other day, phone calls whenever he could manage, two roommates, a visit once a month, and an apartment search. Life certainly wouldn’t be boring. 

“Hey, you.” Kurt held the phone to his ear as he tried to open the door to the apartment, jiggling the handle in the way that would let the lock click open. He’d written the landlord a dozen emails. He was about to just fix the damned thing himself.

“Hi.” Blaine’s voice was quiet on the other end of the line. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you in the hospital? Did Alex break you?”

Blaine’s laugh warmed him from the other end of the line. “I’m supposed to- um, to be asleep. Mom’s been... hovering.”

Kurt hummed, finally feeling the lock slip free. He stepped inside and cursed as he nearly tripped over Rachel’s rehearsal bag. “I live with heathens, Blaine. Absolute heathens.”

He could hear the smile in Blaine’s voice when he spoke up again. “Did she- um, leave her bag on the- the floor again?”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Alright, is your memory getting better, or do you have a sticky dedicated to Rachel’s bag shenanigans?”

“I’m keeping a- a tally.”

Kurt snorted, kicking the bag out of the way. “Oh? Do I even want to know the number?”

There was silence for a moment. “Sixteen. Damn.”

Kurt groaned. “Sixteen times? I’m going to murder her. You are giving me ammunition for a murder.”

Blaine was rolling his eyes. He could tell. “Nothing I have to- um, uh, bail you out for.”

Kurt nodded as he managed to set down his own bag neatly on the desk in the living room. He headed to the kitchen to try to scrounge something to eat. 

“It’s- um, late, isn’t it?”

Kurt nodded, glancing at the clock. Nearly ten. “Yeah, the training shifts have been hell, this week. As if I don’t know how to make a coffee for some impatient asshole who’s still carrying a briefcase, for some reason. Who carries a briefcase? The world is full of backpacks for a reason, buddy.”

Silence on the other end of the line. “Blaine?”

“Sorry. Um, coffee shop?”

Kurt’s stomach twisted. Sometimes, things were so normal between them that he could nearly forget. He almost didn’t hear the hesitations in Blaine’s speech, anymore. Not when things were going well. But every once in a while, there would be a stark reminder of everything Blaine had lost. Kurt nodded into the phone. “Yeah, hon. I started on Tuesday of this week. I need that sweet, sweet spending money.”

Silence again, before a little noise of acknowledgment. “The shop you- you- um, like so much.”

Kurt nodded. Blaine had probably found a sticky or something in his journal. “That’s right. Dark Roast. I’ll take you there as soon as you can visit. They make a mean mocha.”

Blaine laughed. “I’m more a- a drip coffee- um, guy.”

Kurt shook his head. “Ugh. For someone so sweet, I don’t know how you drink something so bitter.”

“Do you like it- um, there so far?”

Kurt nodded. “My coworkers are awesome. There’s this girl, Shelly, who also works at this psychic shop thing. She’s always bringing in crystals and oils, offering to do blessings for me. I don’t think they do anything, but she smells fantastic. And the owner is this burly guy who used to own a gym. He’s a softie, though. Everybody’s great. And I like dealing with people. Even assholes who refuse to acknowledge that briefcases belong in 1957.”

Blaine hummed softly. “I’m glad it- it, um makes you happy.”

Kurt nodded. “It really does. One step closer to the goal for you and me.”

He heard Blaine yawn over the line and glanced at the clock. He knew Blaine was typically asleep by now, but he had one more thing to discuss. “So, tomorrow after PT, somebody’s going to come by your house. Just roll with it, okay? I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Blaine was quiet for a moment. “Okay,” he said, dragging out the word in a way that perfectly communicated that he thought Kurt had gone nuts. “Who?”

Kurt grinned. “It’s a surprise. Just trust me? It’ll be good. I’m only warning you so you’re not caught off guard in your Star Wars pajamas. Not that he wouldn’t appreciate them, but I know you’re not huge on surprises right now.”

Blaine hummed softly. “You’re- um, you’re right. I’m not.”

“It’s a good surprise,” Kurt said gently, “I promise.” He was trying to take on all the problems in the world. What was one more? Kurt may need money, but Blaine needed a social life outside of his mother and his physical therapist. He just hoped they’d get along.

Blaine’s answering grunt was noncommittal, but Kurt had to trust that he’d written it down or made a note somehow. He was trying not to micromanage his boyfriend’s memory. It was harder than he’d thought it’d be.

He sighed when he heard Blaine try to fight off another yawn. “You should get to bed, yeah? I’ll talk to you tomorrow after you have your surprise. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to say.”

Blaine mumbled something under his breath that Kurt didn’t quite catch, but then he was back. “This better be- um, good.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and smiled. “It will be, promise.” 

“Kay,” Blaine mumbled, clearly too tired to argue anymore. “Talk to you- um,” he made a noncommittal noise that made Kurt hide his grin. 

“Yeah, B, I’ll talk to you then.”

He grabbed a leftover salad from the day before as he ended the call, then flopped down at the ‘breakfast bar’, a 2 foot wide bit of cabinet they’d shoved a stool in front of. He was just reaching for his fork when his phone went off. 

He was expecting it to be Blaine asking about his surprise. Instead, it was Charlie. 

** _Listening to this girl on the phone breaking up with her boyfriend because he apparently cheated on her with her cousin. I’m telling you, Kurt, you would love the late shift. _ **

Underneath was a picture of a guy blowing on his tea, captioned ‘When the tea’s too hot so you sip your iced mocha’. 

Kurt laughed and rolled his eyes as he tapped out his response. 

_As if I would ever drink cold-brewed coffee, you heathen. Get all the juicy details so you can tell me tomorrow._

He missed his response as he started scrolling through apartment listings again. One step closer to solving all the world’s problems.


	8. Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments on the last chapter! I loved reading your impressions of Charlie. Trying to hold back the identity of the surprise was insanely difficult.
> 
> But now you get it!
> 
> In a completely different way than you were probably expecting, because I'm me, and I can't write fluff. It's impossible. Believe me, I've tried.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> PSA: I likely won't be posting a second chapter this week. I'm going to spend Thanksgiving with my family, and won't have much time to write. But I'll be back with a vengeance after that!

Blaine sat in the living room, hands in his lap, waiting for his mom. He’d already texted Alex to cancel his PT appointment for the morning. He knew the conversation he was about to have wasn’t going to be fun. But they had to have it. He’d needed to talk to Pam for a while, but he finally felt ready. He could do this. He tried his best to keep his hands still, not wanting to fidget.

He looked up at the sound of the door closing, chewing on his lip. His mom seemed to be in a good mood, talking on the phone, laughing with her assistant about a seating chart. Blaine didn’t get the joke, but he felt a nervous smile spread over his face anyway. She stopped laughing as she looked up to see Blaine, tilting her head to the side. Blaine tried to look calm, cool, collected. He wasn’t sure it was working.

“Andrea, I’ll have to call you back.”

She took off her coat and placed it carefully in the hall closet. She tucked her bag away on the shelf. She’d always been so particular about her routine when coming back in from an errand. She looked to Blaine again as she stepped cautiously into the room. “Hi, hon. Are you ready for PT?”

Blaine shook his head. He’d practiced this out loud in his room several times before coming out to the living room. “No,” he said quietly. “I need to- um, to talk to you.”

Pam stiffened a bit. “I know that PT can be uncomfortable, Blaine, but you have to go.”

He fought the urge to sigh, knowing it wouldn’t help. He didn’t understand why everyone was always assuming he didn’t want to work hard at PT. He was improving constantly. Alex said he was right where he needed to be. He had a feeling his mom just wanted more out of him. He straightened his spine and shook his head. “I talked to- um, to Alex and- and cancelled it.”

He could almost feel the look she was giving him. “Well, you have my attention,” she said quietly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Blaine took a deep breath and cleared his throat, running his fingers over the leather cover of his notebook in his lap. He was going to try not to use it for as long as he could. “I’ve been- um, talking to my- my,” similar word, he needed a similar word. Doctor, psychiatrist, “therapist. Speech therapist. Um, I’ve been talking to her a lot.”

Pam nodded, eyebrow raised. “That’s sort of the point, dear.”

Blaine huffed out a breath and shot her a look before continuing. If he made a snide comment, he’d lose his place. “About something- um,” he hesitated, nostrils flaring as he tried to focus, “specific.”

Pam nodded, sitting on the edge of her chair. “Alright.” Her tone was annoyingly neutral. “What have you been talking about?” 

He knew that she was trying to be patient. He had a feeling his new speech therapist might have had a conversation with her about that. Newer, anyway. The one he’d had since leaving the hospital. He forced himself to focus past the thoughts that wanted to derail him, the way his mother was tapping her nails on her thigh. He had to take his time, or he wouldn’t make any sense. “I want to talk to the- um, the-,” policeman, officer, “detective.”

Pam didn’t move, didn’t twitch. Her ring finger hovered above her pants, mid-tap. Blaine couldn’t seem to stop staring at it. He didn’t want to see the expression on her face. “That’s quite a big decision, Blaine,” she said quietly. He could hear the disapproval in her tone. She had probably hoped he’d forgotten about even speaking with them. “With your speech the way it is, do you really think that’s a good idea? And you’re still having panic attacks. I can’t imagine having one of those in the middle of an interview with a detective would be a good thing.”

Blaine controlled his breathing, not allowing himself to get too upset. He had to stay focused, or his speech would fall apart and she’d feel more justified in trying to tell him no. “My speech is- um, better. And Dr.-,” he froze, blanking. He didn’t know his speech therapist’s name. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. It was all in the journal, he’d written it out, but he was trying not to use it. His mother was always uncomfortable when he was writing. “My doctor,” close enough, “she thinks I can- um, handle it. And we- um, we- can talk to the- the-,” damn it, he just had this one, “the-… detective. We can talk to her in advance and get a- um, a list. Of questions.”

Pam hummed. He dared to meet her eyes. Her expression was stormy, closed. He couldn’t figure out what was going through her head, and it was a little terrifying. “I’m sorry, Blaine, I’m trying to see where you’re coming from. But this is a huge decision, and a huge commitment. I don’t think you’re ready, yet.”

“I’m ready.” His voice was steady, the words sure. He was grateful that they’d come out smoothly. “It happened to… um, to- to me. I should be able to- um, to make the- the choice.”

Pam sighed quietly. “I know you feel that way right now. But we’ve talked about the implications. What would happen.” Blaine’s mind flashed to an image of a courtroom, his father’s disappointed face, his mother’s worried eyes. “Waiting a little longer isn’t going to hurt anything.”

“I don’t- I don’t ever want what happened to- to me to happen to- um, someone else. They’re still- they’re out there. And they could hurt- um, someone. What if I- if I wait and something happens?”

It was Pam’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “Nothing’s happened since you went into the hospital, sweetheart. And even if it did, it wouldn’t be your responsibility. You aren’t culpable for what those… people,” she said the word as though it were an insult, “do to someone else.”

Blaine shrugged. “If I say- um, nothing, and they- they-,” he closed his eyes, willed the word to come back to him, “hurt. If they hurt someone, then I- I’m partially responsible.”

Pam flinched, shaking her head. “No, you aren’t. Not at all.” She held his eyes a long moment. Then her shoulders sagged. “Look, if you want to do this, I’m going to have to discuss it with your father, first.”

“No.”

She looked affronted. “Blaine, you’re being ridiculous.”

“This isn’t Dad’s… um, choice.”

“He is a part of this family. If you’re discussing it with me, you should discuss it with him.”

“He’s going to- um, to- to try-,” he huffed, giving up. He’d made it through half of the conversation. He wrote as quickly as he could, knowing that his mother would already be formulating her arguments while he hesitated. “He’s going to try to stop me. He doesn’t want the attention. He doesn’t want it in the press.” 

She made a sound like she was going to protest, and he shook his head sharply.

“He doesn’t want people remembering. But I remember. And I have to remember. I don’t have any choice.” He skimmed down to the part of the script he’d written earlier, just in case. “I spoke with my doctor about coping mechanisms. We can get a list of questions from the detective in advance. I can write out most of my answers. I can give Kurt a cheat sheet of things to do if I start to panic, so he can help calm me down. Alex will help me with that part. And if it goes to court and I’m subpoenaed, then I can find ways to deal with that, too. We can. As long as everyone is working with me. Helping me.”

“Kurt?” She looked surprised. “Why would Kurt need to calm you down?”

Blaine blinked, surprised by the question. “He’ll be- um, with me. In the- in the-,” he frowned, not even sure what word he was looking for, “when I talk to the- the cops.”

Pam’s jaw set, and she looked more upset than she had before, though he had no idea why. “Yes, well, you can hardly expect an eighteen-year-old to be willing and able to do that for you, Blaine.”

He sighed quietly, not willing to argue that point. At least, not now. He knew Kurt would be there with him. They hadn’t had that conversation, but they would. He already knew the answer. “I’m going to do this, with or- um, without your-… your blessing.”

Pam sighed, running a hand over her face. “Blaine, I really think you should-“

They both jumped at the sound of a knock at the door. Blaine’s brow furrowed, instantly confused. He watched as her expression shifted from alarm to understanding to irritated. “I forgot he was coming this morning,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She looked to Blaine, expression unreadable. Then she stood, straightening her shirt and nodding. “Right. This conversation isn’t over, but it will have to end for now.”

Blaine was too confused to argue. He had no idea what was going on.

His mother walked to the door and a moment later returned with a tallish blonde guy with a ridiculously huge mouth. 

“Mom?” Blaine asked quietly.

“Blaine, this is Kurt’s friend,” she hesitated, shaking her head. “I apologize, I’m normally better with names than this.” She’d already written the guy off. She was being polite enough, but she never forgot a name. Certainly not twenty seconds after meeting someone.

“No worries,” the guy said with an easy smile, walking in and unslinging a guitar case from his shoulders. He walked over to Blaine and held out his hand. “I’m Sam. You’re Blaine, Kurt told me all about you, dude. Do you actually have Star Wars pajamas?”

Blaine blinked and reached for the guy-Sam-‘s hand out of sheer instinct. He’d never been more confused. He shot him an odd look as he missed, grabbing Blaine’s hand and guiding it back to the center between them like his arm was a lost puppy. It should have been condescending. Instead, it just felt surreal. Blaine shook his head. “I don’t- um, I don’t-… Who are you?”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, Kurt told me you might talk kind of funny, but that’s no big deal. I sometimes get confused when I’m trying to do an impression and everything gets sort of scrambled in my head. Though he was totally supposed to tell you I was coming! I’m his friend from glee before he went off to make, like, really fancy shoes or something.”

Blaine looked a little helplessly at his mother. He didn’t remember being told about a mysterious, kind of cute blonde guy who would magically arrive at his front door with a guitar. She shrugged.

“Yes, well, Kurt thinks you two will get along. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, we’ll shout if we do,” Sam said with an easy grin. Blaine tried to imagine that, Sam shouting at his mom that they needed cookies or soda or whatever else moms were supposed to get for their kids. He almost laughed at the mental image. He stared as Sam flopped onto the sofa beside him, putting his shoes onto his mother’s perfect, grey slipcover. 

“So, do you, like, watch tv and stuff? Or do anything? I mean, it’s gotta be pretty boring, being trapped here all the time. Want to go for a walk? Or maybe try my guitar? Kurt said you like musical stuff. I do, too. And I’m, like, really good.”

Blaine shook his head. If his life was going to turn into some absurd comedy, he may as well just go with it. He opened his journal to a new page and wrote as quickly as he could. “Kurt sent you to cheer me up with walks and guitar?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, dude, I’m like, your blind friend! It’s like a blind date, but cooler.”

Blaine snorted, trying to figure out what the hell to do with that information. His mom was upset with him, she wasn’t going to be any help. Kurt was at work, he couldn’t call him. He looked at Sam, not entirely sure he could be trusted to push him around the neighborhood. Eventually, his eyes settled on his guitar. “You- um, play?”

Sam nodded and grinned, pulling the instrument out of its case. “Yeah! Mostly just cool music. But I learned some Broadway for Kurt.” 

He started strumming on the guitar, and Blaine relaxed marginally. He might be a whole lot of personality, but he was talented. He sounded good. Blaine bobbed his head a little to the tune, surprised to find Sam staring at him.

“Want to learn?”

Blaine’s expression fell. He wrote quickly. “I don’t have all that much coordination. I don’t know if I even have the strength to hold down the strings.”

Sam shook his head. “I taught my little brother, and he’s, like, four.” His brow furrowed, deep in thought. “Or five? I dunno, the point is, he’s little. Totally wimpy fingers.” He stood and walked over to Blaine, slipping the strap of the guitar over his shoulders. 

Blaine tried to reach for it, but his hands had completely forgotten where they were. He wasn’t concentrating on where his body was, too put off by suddenly having a new (very loud) person in his life.

“No, like this.” Sam sounded like he was speaking to a particularly stupid child. Blaine hated that tone, but he did understand it. He looked like an idiot.

“I-… My hands sort of- um, forget where they- where they are.”

Sam hummed, tipping his head to the side. “Weird,” he said with a shrug. Blaine could not understand this guy. He didn’t have any follow-up questions. Didn’t seem particularly disturbed. He just thought it was weird. Despite himself, Blaine relaxed a little. Maybe Kurt had prepped him. Maybe Sam just took everything at face value. Either way, he found it was really nice to not have to constantly explain himself.

“Well, you’re right-handed, right? So this hand goes here,” he placed it deliberately, “and the left goes on the strings.” He pressed them into place like that would somehow force his hands to remember. Blaine snorted. Who knew? Maybe it’d help. 

“Okay,” he said after a moment. “Now- um, what?”

The lesson was short, exhausting, and surprisingly fun. Sam was trying to teach him the chords to ‘Billionaire’. He was a mess. His fingers didn’t know where to go, he could barely hold down the strings enough to make a sound come out at all, much less a good one. But he found himself laughing from bad jokes and terrible impressions. Sam was surprisingly patient. What Blaine had thought was condescension was just the way Sam was. When he took the guitar back to demonstrate something, he treated his own hands almost the same as he treated Blaine’s. Though Blaine’s speech wasn’t exactly smooth, Sam didn’t seem to mind, finding some way to crack a joke or making some inane comment that’d make Blaine laugh. When he tried to speak again, it came easier, with fewer forgotten words. 

“Alright, Blaine,” Pam said from the doorway a while later. She was hiding a smile. She must’ve been listening in. When she looked at Sam, her expression was far more open. Whatever she’d heard had made an impression. “You need to get some rest. It’s time for your friend to go.”

“Do I have to?” Sam asked, looking up at her. Again, Blaine was taken by surprise. He’d been having fun, but all he’d managed to get out were a few bad puns and some really lame jokes about the Marvel movies. Apparently, it was enough to make Sam want to stay. The thought warmed him up.

At Pam’s nod, Sam sighed and pulled the guitar out of Blaine’s lap. “Okay, well, next time I’ll teach you something sexy you can play for Kurt.” He winked in Blaine’s direction. 

Blaine’s eyes snapped to his mother, but she was pretending she hadn’t heard. “That’s not- um, necessary, but- but thanks. This was really- um, fun.”

Sam nodded. “Dude, it totally was. You’re my new project. You’re gonna be a lean, mean, guitar-playing machine.”

Blaine laughed and shook his head, saying his goodbyes as he watched Sam leave the room.

Soon after, he was fed and showered and tucked into bed, most of which he’d managed to do on his own. Well, half of which. He grabbed his phone and typed out a message to Kurt.

**Loved my surprise. You’re teh best.**

A moment later, he received his reply.

_I knew you would. You and Sam are going to get on like a house on fire. I’ll call you in a few hours in between shifts, okay? XX_

He smiled at his phone, closed his eyes, and relaxed. He would have to talk to his mother again the next day, try to convince her to see things his way. But for now, he could relax. He sank into the bed, eyes closed, humming ‘Billionaire’ under his breath.


	9. April, Part I

Kurt’s phone was buzzing in his pocket. He sent an apologetic look to Isabelle as he dug it out of his pocket. Blaine. At 9;30 in the morning on a Thursday. He chewed on his lip for a moment. 

“Kurt? Is everything alright?” 

He jumped slightly as he was called out. He’d spent an hour Skyping Blaine just last night about his latest adventures with Sam. They’d just talked. If something had happened, medically, it would be Pam calling. He sent the call to voicemail.

“Yes. Sorry, everything’s fine.” He smiled at Isabelle and pulled his notebook a little closer.

Pitch meetings were his favorite. He was able to watch Isabelle work, get in her head as she decided which ideas were worth publishing and which weren’t. She had an amazing eye for photographs, but more than that, she had some freaky sixth sense about what people wanted to read. She’d spend hours in a conference room with journalists, art directors, ad executives. And Kurt, dutifully taking notes to read back to her later.

About ten minutes after he’d sent Blaine to voicemail, he managed to catch a break to text him.

_Caught up at work. I’ll call at lunch, okay?_

He didn’t feel his phone vibrate with a response.

He’d meant it, when he’d texted it. Most pitch meetings lasted an hour or two, and then everyone left to work their respective portions of the issue. Today was different.

One of the journalists had interviewed Lady Gaga. The piece was meant to be harmless, all about eight inch stilettos and her infamous meat dress, what to expect for the coming awards season. But the questions had turned political. They’d discussed presidential policies, sexuality, and everything in between. 

Now, the debate raged on whether it should be included, or what pieces could be cut. They’d been talking for so long that Isabelle had ordered in sandwiches for lunch so no one would leave the room. Kurt barely processed that he’d broken his promise to Blaine. He listened, jotting down the occasional note as he skimmed the draft of the interview.

“She’s a political icon. Whether we publish it or not, people know that she has opinions. She’s been on the record with them dozens of times before.”

“It’s not breaking any new ground, and we don’t want to alienate our readers.”

“Who do you think is reading Vogue? The kinds of people who will be offended by the concept of bisexuality?”

“This isn’t that sort of publication.”

“Even if it was something we wanted to publish, Jerry, it’s a mess. Politics all jumbled with commentary on Versace’s latest. It’s completely incomprehensible.”

Kurt had simply taken notes, an idea ruminating in the back of his mind. The least senior of the people in the room had been there at least five years. He was an intern. He had absolutely no right to speak up. He cleared his throat and half raised his hand.

Isabelle looked at him with an indulgent smile. “Yes, Kurt?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, aware his voice was even higher than usual. “Well, a lot of your readership is like me. Young kids in the middle of rural America who feel like they don’t fit in. We cater a lot- almost all- of our material to New York socialites and California heiresses, and that’s perfectly fine. Everybody needs to fantasize about Givenchy from time to time.” 

Smiles all around the room. He even heard a quiet chuckle. He sat up a little straighter. “But seeing a piece like that in one of my favorite publications? One that proved that fashion icons can be political, one that let me know that one of my favorite celebrities was a little bit like me? As a gay kid in Ohio, that would’ve meant the world.” He took a deep breath. “There are definitely some valid criticisms, here. The interview is kind of all over the place, but I think it can be shifted around to make a lot more sense. Gaga is a fashion giant. Fashion and politics don’t have to be mutually exclusive. I think if it can be cleaned up, it could mean a lot to a lot of people.”

Isabelle grinned as she caught on to Kurt’s plan. “Well, then, seems like an editor could probably whip it into shape.”

Kurt sighed in relief and nodded, satisfied that she’d be able to handle it without a problem.

“So what do you think, Kurt? Can you have a draft for us in the morning?”

Kurt blinked rapidly, trying to hide his shock. He wasn’t an editor, not really. He was still mostly fixing typos and putting together opinion pieces that served as fluff, filler. This was important. An interview with a major celebrity. A hotly contested interview with a majorly controversial celebrity. He couldn’t tell if he was nervous or excited. Both, probably. No, definitely. He couldn’t have contained his grin if he’d tried. “I absolutely can.”

He sat staring at his computer screen, hours later. He had all the pieces he needed, but they couldn’t seem to fit into place. It was like he was missing something. Some tiny puzzle piece that would settle everything in place. 

He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He’d been working on the article for so many hours that he was going a little crazy. He pulled out his phone for a Facebook break and froze. Three missed calls from Blaine and a series of text messages. 

**Late lunch?**

**Guess yui forgot.**

**I really need to tal k to you. **

**Please call.**

The last one was from an hour ago. Kurt glanced at the time. It was just past five. He’d been working the interview since leaving the pitch meeting. He ran his hands over his face, taking a deep breath. He needed a draft of the article by tomorrow morning. Blaine needed to talk to him. Talking at work was a bad idea, if it was serious. He closed his eyes, sighed, and dug in his bag for a flash drive. He’d work from home.

It was nearly an hour later when he was finally unlocking his front door, phone held tightly against his ear. He was just lucky he didn’t have a shift at the coffee shop tonight.

“Blaine?”

He could hear heavy breathing on the other end of the line. “Blaine? What’s wrong?”

His stomach dropped through his toes as he heard Blaine sniff. He was crying. Blaine was crying and Kurt had been ignoring him for the past day. “Breathe. Nice and slow. In and out.” His voice was steady, even if he was sweating. Blaine didn’t need to deal with his guilt on top of whatever had upset him.

The breathing on the other end of the line slowed steadily. “Kurt.”

“Yeah. Hi, honey. I’m so, so sorry. I was caught up at work, but that’s no excuse. Are you okay? What happened?”

It was another moment before Blaine spoke. “I talked to the- um, the-,” he groaned, more frustrated than he should be for the first sentence of the conversation.

“Hey,” Kurt said quietly, “it’s okay. It’s just me. You can write it down, I’ll wait.” The suspense wasn’t exactly pleasant, but he knew it was worse when Blaine felt pressured. He curled up in the corner of the couch, having to fight the old urge to bite his nails. 

Eventually, Blaine spoke again. “I talked to the detective. I’ve been fighting with my mom about it for over a week, but today I just did it. I called. And it was terrifying. And I stumbled over my words a lot. But I- I talked to her.”

Kurt blew out a slow breath. “Oh. Oh, wow. That’s amazing, Blaine.” It wasn’t anything medical. Nothing was broken. His progress hadn’t magically been set back by six months. He banished the thoughts and bit his lip. “You didn’t even tell me you were thinking about that.”

Silence for a long moment. “I wanted to. But I didn’t want to say anything until I knew I could talk to her. And it’s more fun to talk about Sam.”

Kurt nodded. He cleared his throat. “Right. Okay. What did you talk about?”

He listened to the scratch of the pen, oddly soothing, even in a situation like this. He’d grown used to it. “About me finally giving my statement. Telling her the truth of what happened. Seeing if I can get those guys put away.”

Kurt huffed, sagging into the back of the sofa. “Oh, wow, B, that’s a lot.” The silence on the end of the line was a little uncomfortable, that time. “Not that it isn’t a good thing! It is! I just wasn’t expecting this. I thought we’d talk about it before you called her.” He shook his head, trying to clear it. Blaine didn’t owe him an explanation. “When are you having that conversation?”

“Saturday,” Blaine said softly. “I tried to- um, to make it a- a- a weekend. For you.”

Kurt’s stomach sank. Saturday. Which meant flying tomorrow. He ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed by everything that had to be done before he could fly out. The article had to be finished. He’d need to somehow convince Charlie to cover his shifts at the coffee shop. He needed to pack, buy a last minute (and extremely expensive) plane ticket. Contact Isabelle to let her know what was happening. It was an overwhelming amount to do, and it was already past 6 on a Thursday night. “I really wish you’d told me, Blaine.”

Silence. Then that scratch of the pen again. When Blaine spoke, he sounded a little shaky. “I’m sorry. I want to say that it’s okay if you can’t come. I know it’s really last minute. But I don’t think I can do this without you.”

“No,” Kurt said immediately, straightening his spine. “No, I want to be there. This is important.” He took a breath and let it out. “Right. Okay, I need to go so I can talk to the coffee shop and to Isabelle.”

Blaine was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m really- um, sorry, Kurt.”

Kurt shook his head. “I know, hon. And I’m really proud of you for this, okay? It’s a good thing. There’s just- there’s a lot I need to get done.”

Blaine only hummed in response.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

Kurt gave himself five minutes to feel miserable. He was disappointed that he wouldn’t be there to defend his article, frustrated by the lack of notice, worried that the coffee shop would fire him for leaving them short-staffed. And more than anything, he felt guilty, a deep, twisting ache in his gut. Blaine had been trying to tell him all day and he’d blown him off. He wiped a hand over his face, pulled out his laptop, and went to work.

Kurt hurried through the Columbus airport, nearly running over a little old lady who wouldn’t clear the hall. He’d been hurrying all day. He’d been up until nearly 3 AM finishing the first edit of the interview. He’d finally realized that what was missing was a bit of explanation. A bit of writing. He’d added his own voice to the article, an arbiter able to chime in here and there, tying the story together. He’d sent it off to Isabelle before packing for the flight, and now he was too nervous to check his email to see if she’d read it. Jason was going to be taking ownership of the project while he was gone. Straight, fashion-challenged Jason. Kurt was trying desperately not to be bitter. At least Charlie had been able to find people to cover his shifts at the coffee shop. The chaos had led to him falling asleep without setting an alarm. It was a miracle he’d made it to the airport before his flight had taken off. He’d rushed through security and run to his gate only to find that his flight had been delayed. 

Finally, after a night so hectic he hadn’t even washed his face, he was in Ohio. He may be an hour later than he’d planned, but he was ready to take on whatever Blaine needed. He practically ran to the exit, breathing out a sigh of relief when he spotted his dad’s car. 

“How fast do you think we can get to Blaine’s?” he asked by way of greeting before even putting his bags in the back. 

Burt just smiled at him, shaking his head as he stepped out of the car. “Come here, kiddo.”

Kurt hugged his dad briefly, but pulled away far faster than he would’ve liked. “Of all the days for you to decide that it’s worth getting out of the car to hug me, I wish you’d picked a different one. He’s probably freaking out. I’m an hour later than I thought I’d be, and we didn’t exactly end on a good note last night. We need to go, like, now.”

Burt hummed and nodded. “Yep.” He took Kurt’s bags and headed for the trunk. “Backseat this time, bud.”

Kurt stared at him, beyond frustrated. He needed to see Blaine. He needed to know if he was alright. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself with a deep breath. “I would really appreciate if you would hurry up. This isn’t something to be-,” he opened the car door and jumped at the sight of a familiar face. “Blaine!” 

Blaine was pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, but he was grinning. “Hi.”

Kurt scrambled into the car and immediately pulled him into a hug. “I thought I was going to have to wait to see you. Are you okay? Does your mom know you’re here? I mean, of course she does, my dad wouldn’t kidnap you.”

Blaine laughed quietly and held onto Kurt tight. Kurt closed his eyes, feeling some of the tension of the last twenty-four hours melting out of his muscles. He hadn’t even realized how much he needed a hug. He loosened his grip on his boyfriend a little to let him breathe. “Sorry, I’ve just been so worried. I know I was kind of an ass last night. I was overwhelmed, but that’s not an excuse.” If the dark circles were anything to go by, the night hadn’t been easy for Blaine, either. He shifted so he could look at him, stroking his cheek. “Are you okay? Really?”

Blaine nodded, leaning into the touch. At the look Kurt shot him, he sighed. “Stressed,” he admitted, voice quiet. 

Kurt wished Blaine would take the beanie off so he could play with his hair. He shifted on the bench seat so he could buckle the middle seatbelt and pulled Blaine back into his arms, unwilling to let go now that they were together. “I know,” he said softly. “But it’s going to be okay. I’ll stay with you for the rest of today. And I’ll be there first thing in the morning to pick you up. We’ll get through this. Together, we can get through anything, right?”

Burt climbed in halfway through Kurt’s little speech. He cleared his throat as he put the car in drive, looking at the boys through the rearview mirror. “Not necessary, actually. Blaine’s staying with us tonight.”

Kurt frowned. “Seriously? Wait, did you kidnap him? Because having Blaine taken away and you arrested for a felony would kind of suck today.”

Burt laughed and shook his head. “Nope. Didn’t have to. I’ve spent a lot of time on the phone with Pam, lately. After last night, she called to discuss what we wanted to do about the visit to the police station. I offered our house, she took me up on it. Simple as that.” There was no way that had been a simple conversation, but Kurt didn’t push. Not now. “She’s going to call me when she gets nervous. And if he has any kind of… episode, I’ve got her on speed dial.” Kurt wondered whether he meant panic attack or seizure. He held Blaine a little closer. “Sarah’s staying, too, so he’ll have medical support if he needs it.” He looked at Kurt through the mirror. “Of course, this means I’m counting on you, kiddo.”

Kurt bit his lip, but nodded. Of all the things he’d expected Pam to concede, this wasn’t high on the list. He wondered if there was something more going on. “Yeah. Of course.” He processed the implications of his dad’s statement and balked. “Does that mean you’re letting us sleep in the same room?”

Burt sighed quietly. “It means that the air mattress is already set up, and I’m trusting you to not do anything inappropriate. Either one of you.”

Blaine huffed out a quiet breath from where his head was leaned against Kurt’s shoulder. “I’m not gonna- gonna- um, try anything tonight.”

Kurt smiled softly and kissed the top of Blaine’s beanie. “We’re not going to do anything inappropriate, Dad,” he promised quietly. “Honestly, I just want to stay focused on tomorrow.”

Blaine nodded, leaning heavily against Kurt’s side. Kurt could almost feel how exhausted he was. He raised an eyebrow as he realized the fundamental flaw in their plan. “Uh, Dad? How are we dealing with the stairs?”

Burt shook his head. “Air mattress is in the living room. One of you is stuck on the couch.” He shrugged. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s what we’ve got.”

Kurt nodded, frowning slightly. 

“Dad,” Blaine said quietly. 

Kurt’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“That’s why- um, why we’re- at- um, at your... um...”

“At our house?”

At Blaine’s nod, Kurt sighed quietly. He didn’t know the specifics, and he didn’t have to. If John wanted Blaine out of the house, Kurt was glad to give him somewhere to go. Any time. He rubbed his side gently. “Hey, this means we get to have a real sleepover. Pillow forts, hot chocolate, you name it. We’ll make a night of it.”

He could almost feel Blaine’s smile. 

Getting Blaine out of the car was interesting. Kurt had been practicing transfers, but Blaine wasn’t taking much of his weight, today. “Are you alright?”

Blaine nodded. “Sorry. Um, I’m-...,” there was a long pause, “vertigo.” 

Kurt nodded, helping Blaine’s feet into the footrests. “It’s okay,” he assured him. “We’ll get you set up on the mattress and then we’ll just relax and watch a movie or something.” He was worried. Blaine hadn’t been dizzy like that in a long time. Between that and his speech, he was genuinely worried that something was wrong.

He tried not to think too much about it as he pushed Blaine up the (new and improved) accessibility ramp and into the house. Burt had been busy. The jamb on the doorway had been flattened out, the angle was better on the ramp, the furniture had been minimized in the living room to give Blaine plenty of space to maneuver. Of course, that was negated by the massive air mattress in the middle of the room. He’d sprung for one of the fancy ones that was nearly as tall as a regular bed. Even so, the transfer wasn’t exactly smooth. That extra few inches really mattered, it seemed. Kurt yelped as he nearly lost his balance, bracing himself on the bed over Blaine. “Sorry, I- Wow that is a lot lower than I was expecting.” His cheeks were red as he looked to make sure Blaine was okay. 

Blaine laughed, wrapping his arms around Kurt to help steady him. “If you want a- a hug, you can just... um, hug me.”

Kurt smiled, relieved. He clearly hadn’t hurt him. He pulled back a bit so he could press their lips together in a gentle kiss. “What can I say? Couldn’t resist the opportunity.” 

Blaine still looked beyond exhausted, but the grin on his face was genuine, judging by the way his eyes sparkled. Kurt cupped his cheek, resting their foreheads together before going to grab their bags out of the car. 

In the end, there was no pillow fort. As fun as it sounded, it was less entertaining when Blaine couldn’t participate. Instead, they drank hot chocolate and watched some Disney movie, Blaine curled up on the air mattress, Kurt sitting as close as he could get on the sofa, fingers slowly running through Blaine’s hair.

“Thank you for taking off your hat. I love getting to touch your curls.”

Blaine shrugged his shoulders, reaching up to pull his hair over his forehead the way he almost always did when anyone mentioned it. His knowledge of his body was always off. Any other time, he’d have missed by a mile. But he reached for his hair so much that his body seemed to remember. “They’re a- a- a mess.”

“They’re gorgeous,” Kurt corrected quietly, brushing them back again. 

Blaine made a face as he shifted to face the tv a little more. 

“You don’t like them?”

“I used to- um, use a lot of- um, gel. To help them.”

Kurt hummed. “I could buy you some gel. There’s no reason you can’t use it again.”

Blaine was quiet for a while, his shoulders tense. Kurt kept stroking his hair, giving him time. 

“Don’t have- the- the control.”

Kurt nodded. He hadn’t even thought about that. Blaine’s fine motor skills were still a work in progress. Gelling his hair would be an exercise in frustration at best. “You’ll get there. I know you will.”

Blaine hummed quietly, though he didn’t nod. Kurt had a feeling they’d continue that conversation another day. He kept playing with his hair, an idea forming in the back of his mind. 

Blaine was nearly asleep by the end of the movie. Kurt tucked him in gently, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Going to- to read me a bedtime- um, story?”

Kurt grinned. “Don’t tempt me,” he said with a wink. He knew Blaine was indulging him, letting him fuss as much as he was, but he couldn’t help himself. Sarah was there to help with the medical bits, but Kurt was the one who was there to take care of him. He brushed his fingers through Blaine’s curls one last time. “It’s our first sleepover together, after all. And to think, we haven’t even had a pillow fight.”

“There’s still- um, time,” Blaine said softly, though Kurt could see the exhaustion in the lines of his body. 

“Another time.” He found Blaine’s hand and held it loosely. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

Blaine nodded. 

“You took your meds, right?”

Blaine’s eyes went a little distant, the way they always did when he was trying to remember something. He nodded toward his journal. Kurt picked it up and looked over the ‘PM meds’ sticky note, check marks scrawled beneath the F for Friday for each of the prescriptions. He’d taken them all. Kurt sighed with relief, spying a blue sticky note underneath. 

‘From past Blaine: stop worrying, Kurt. I took all of my meds with Sarah, I promise. Relax.’

Kurt laughed and lifted the sticky note so Blaine could read it. “You know me a little too well, B.”

Blaine just grinned at him, eyes soft. “I like- um, knowing you too- too well.”

Kurt hummed and set the journal aside. “I like it, too.” He sighed quietly. “Okay. I’ll wake you up around eight in the morning.” He leaned down to kiss Blaine’s lips, closing his eyes. When Blaine moved to deepen it, he laughed, pulling back. “Hey, my dad said nothing scandalous.”

“Yes, I did!” Burt called from the kitchen. 

“I- um, wasn’t!” Blaine yelled right back, turning bright red. 

Kurt grinned, shooting a wink in Blaine’s direction and blowing him a kiss. “Sleep tight.”

He didn’t know what he was hearing, at first. He groaned as he slapped his hand into his mattress, searching for his phone. He hit empty air. Not the mattress. Couch. He was on the couch. He reached down to the floor and managed to find his phone without knocking it under the furniture. 3 AM. Why was he awake at 3 AM?

He heard it again, that soft sound. And when he paid attention, he could hear breathing, harsh and fast. “Blaine?” He reached for the lamp. Blaine was twisted up in the sheets. He was trembling, head tossing from side to side. His hands were opening and closing into fists.

Kurt climbed off the couch and moved to crouch beside the air mattress. “Blaine? Blaine, honey, wake up. It’s just a nightmare.” He reached out to brush his fingers through his hair to try to calm him. 

Blaine flinched back at the touch, whimpering as he curled in on himself, trying to guard the most vital parts of his body. It broke Kurt’s heart. He’d never actually seen him have a nightmare, before. He didn’t know what to do. Weren’t people not supposed to wake someone having a nightmare? No, no, that was sleepwalkers. He chewed on his lip, watching Blaine struggle to breathe. He couldn’t just leave him like that. He climbed into bed, keeping his touch gentle as he wrapped his arms around Blaine and started untangling him from the sheets. “I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Blaine tensed, at first, then seemed to recognize that Kurt wasn’t going to hurt him. He twisted until he was facing him, fingers grabbing at his shirt, holding tightly enough that Kurt thought it might rip. “They killed him.” Blaine’s voice was slurred, scared. He was still asleep, eyes screwed shut. “They’re gonna- gonna kill him.”

“Shhh.” Kurt held Blaine to his chest, rubbing his back and stroking his hair, everything he could think of to try to help him calm down. “I’m here, Blaine. I’ve got you. No one’s going to be hurt tonight. It’s okay.”

“Gotta... keep him... keep him safe.”

Kurt swallowed hard and kissed Blaine’s forehead. “You will, B. You will. You’re safe. We’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you, okay?”

Blaine mumbled something that Kurt couldn’t quite understand, and then he stilled, head cradled against Kurt’s heart. His breathing evened out. Even when he was certain Blaine was asleep, Kurt didn’t move. He stared at the ceiling, keeping watch through the night and trying his best not to imagine what was happening in Blaine’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack!!
> 
> And I have a chapter for you that is completely and utterly packed. Possibly a little too packed, but I couldn't help myself. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your sweet words about bringing Sam into this 'verse. I've never written him before, so the positive responses made my day! I adore each and every one of you for taking the time to comment something kind. You have no idea how much it meant to me.
> 
> And thank you for letting me take a break! I've had some time to take a breath, spend some time with the family, and now I'm back with a vengeance. Enjoy!


	10. April, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am very, very late with this chapter.
> 
> Thank you all for being patient. The holiday season has sort of sprung upon me and I'm frantically running around trying to get things done. Chapter updates may be slower through the start of the New Year. I apologize for making y'all wait, but I am completely out of hours in the day, and I wanted this chapter to be done correctly, not rushed through.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Please feel free to leave a comment, let me know what you think, I appreciate every single one of them.
> 
> Thanks!
> 
> Ps: TW for homophobic language and mentions of past violence. Nothing graphic, but could be upsetting.

“No.”

“John, if you would just-“

“I said no, Pam.”

“You can’t just tell him no. He’s made his choice.”

“Haven’t we been through enough, at this point? Hasn’t he been through enough? If he does this, it will go to trial. The trial will be public. Everything that happened last time will happen again.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“I think you’ve forgotten. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be encouraging this. He thinks that talking about it is the worst that will happen. That his inevitable panic attack is the hardest thing he’ll have to go through. But I remember last time. The harassment from the press for interviews, opinions, statements. And once the articles had been written, the people stopping by, the phone calls, the letters, the commentary at work. That kid in Michigan who wrote us a letter after he nearly had his head bashed in with a tire iron. The kid a few towns over who was going to kill himself until he transferred to that private school who showed up on our doorstep. And the people who went out of their way to inform us that our son being beaten into a coma was God’s plan to cure his gay. Do you have any idea how many of my coworkers came up to let me know that they didn’t believe a word of it? That Blaine was a good kid. That he never would have taken another boy to a dance like some sort of fag. That they knew this had to be a random attack, instead. Do you really want Blaine to have to deal with that?”

“It’s his choice, John, and he’s made it. He’s trying to protect people like that boy in Michigan. Kids like himself. How do you tell him no when he’s only trying to help? You know how compassionate he can be.”

“Too compassionate. His ‘compassion’ is going to get him killed. I won’t allow it. I won’t take him to that appointment. I won’t let him speak to some fucking detective who’s only interested in getting the glory for solving some cold case. I’m putting up with him constantly speaking to and seeing that- that Kurt person. I’m paying for every bit of his treatment that insurance won’t cover, and I’m happy to do so. But I won’t allow this. Whatever benefit he thinks he might get, it’s not worth it. He’ll know this time, Pam. He’ll see all of it. At least last time, he was unconscious. It will be him, this time. He’s going to be the target. I can’t sit by and let that happen. And I frankly can't believe that you would.”

Blaine woke slowly, the details of the memory fading away until he was left with nothing but a vague sense of unease. He blinked his eyes open, frowning slightly at how warm it was in his bed. He shifted and the entire mattress dipped. This wasn’t his bed. He started to panic, thinking he was back in the hospital. But no, the bed felt almost deflated. And there were arms around him. He blinked, reaching down to pinch himself. Definitely awake. He turned slowly. Kurt. Kurt was holding him in a half-deflated air mattress. It felt surreal. But in a dream, a pinch wouldn’t hurt, the mattress would be comfortable, he wouldn’t be feeling the stabbing pain that always preceded a migraine. 

He was awake. He closed his eyes and dug in his head for the little snippets of memory that were always so hard to grasp when he first woke. Slowly, it came back into focus. Kurt was home for moral support. Blaine was doing something important. Something difficult. Kurt had been upset that he hadn’t had much notice. Blaine huffed out a breath, feeling Kurt stir a little. Detective McMillan. He had an appointment with Detective McMillan. His stomach sank. He felt frozen and numb and like his skin was on fire. He was going to be sick. He took slow, calming breaths.

He felt when Kurt woke, the change in his breathing , the way he stretched his legs. In different circumstances, he would have enjoyed the moment. He’d been daydreaming about it forever. Instead, he was focused on keeping himself from panicking. No one needed him to have a panic attack before the day even began.

Kurt looked down at him with warm eyes and a soft smile that Blaine tried to return. “Good morning,” he said quietly. Blaine flinched. It was involuntary, but his migraine was a bit further along than he’d hoped. Even the sound of Kurt’s quiet greeting was enough to make the pain behind his eyes spike. Kurt’s smile faded and he shifted, letting go of Blaine so he could climb out of bed. “I’ll grab your pills.”

Blaine curled in on himself as Kurt slipped out of the bed, eyes closed, counting his breaths. Five couts in. Five counts out. He wasn’t having to count out his senses, yet. There was a cold knot in his stomach that was making it difficult to breathe, but he wasn’t quite feeling the fluttery sensation on his skin that meant he’d hit the point of no return. He sat up slowly with Kurt’s help and took the pills, not even questioning what they were. They should all be in a container labeled with the day, anyway. 

It took a while, Blaine sitting with his eyes closed, Kurt hovering above him, but his breathing eventually started to even out. The pain in his head began to recede. Not much, maybe, but a little. His hands were shaking, but that might have only been nerves. 

“Are you okay?”

Blaine nodded, eyes on the floor.

“Is it just a headache, or is there something else?”

Blaine chewed on his lip. “I don’t- I- um, I sort of remembered what I’m- um, doing today. It’s-,” he let himself trail off, shrugging his shoulders. The word was gone and he couldn’t be bothered to find it again.

Kurt studied him for a long moment. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get Sarah to come help get you to the bathroom and everything, first.”

Blaine nodded, utterly unwilling to talk about any of the necessities with Sarah in front of Kurt. She helped him into his chair, helped him use the restroom, dressed him in a nice button-down and a pair of slacks. He brushed his own teeth, combed his hair to the best of his ability, and rolled back out to the living room. He kept fidgeting with his shirt. It was too stiff, too formal. He hadn’t been in much more than sweatpants in a long time.

Kurt walked into the room just as Blaine started to think he was going to lose his mind, hands behind his back. “So, I know you’re nervous. I would be, too. But I had an idea. If you hate it, we don’t have to do it, but I know you’ve been feeling a little shaky about talking to the detective.”

Blaine just shot him a questioning look, trying to get Kurt to tell him more without actually having to say anything. All his words were jumbled around in his head.

Kurt smiled at him and stepped forward, pulling the items from behind his back with a flourish. He had a handheld mirror, a comb, and a tube of gel. Blaine’s stomach dropped, face falling. “I- I- I can’t. I don’t- don’t have the- um, the-,” his eyes filled with frustrated tears as the words drifted away again, smoke in the wind.

Kurt shifted so he was in front of Blaine, crouching down to be at eye level with him. “Hey, stop,” he said quietly, setting the things aside so he could take both of Blaine’s hands in his own. “I know your hands aren’t quite up to it. But mine are. It won’t be perfect, it won’t be exactly the way you used to do it. But I’ll get as close as I can, okay?” 

Blaine hesitated, looking at the gel on the edge of the bed. He’d always felt better with his curls under control. Maybe bringing order to his hair would somehow translate to calming the chaos in his head. It was crazy. There was no reason it should work. But this was Kurt. He looked up at him, doubtful and a little scared. “Can you- um, cover- cover it?”

Kurt’s eyes moved up to Blaine’s hairline, the scar. He nodded after a moment’s pause. “Yeah. It’ll be a different style than you’re used to, but I’ll do my best.”

Blaine blew out a breath, closed his eyes, and nodded. 

He’d always loved the feeling of Kurt’s fingers in his hair. He’d worried that the gel would lessen the experience, make it sticky and awkward. He’d been afraid that Kurt’s fingers would pull painfully, but he was an expert. Kurt didn’t even tug. Considering how Blaine’s attempts usually went, it was impressive. His curls were a little too long, a little unkempt. Even if Blaine had been gelling his hair himself, he wouldn’t have come close to his usual style, given the circumstances. He closed his eyes, trusting Kurt to make him look at least somewhat presentable.

“Alright,” Kurt said with a flourish, wiping his hands on a towel that he must have brought with him earlier. “Today I’ve gelled it down, but tomorrow you and I are talking hair products, because damn. Do you know how many people would kill for curls like that? Myself included. And you want to shellac them to your head with enough gel for a small army.”

Blaine snorted and shook his head as Kurt handed him a mirror. He raised an eyebrow, looking at himself. It was nothing like the style he’d worn to school before everything had happened. His curls still had a little bit of bounce, despite their gel prison. “It looks- um, it looks good. Though they’re a little bit too… too long.”

Kurt grinned. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but for a second there, you looked like Sherly Temple. Don’t worry, though, I think it’s sweet.” He squeezed Blaine’s shoulders gently. “I’ll give you a haircut tomorrow, too.” 

Blaine looked himself over. He looked different. The style was a new one, for him. Kurt had made adjustments to try to cover the scar. It was still there. It would always be there, running down nearly to his eyebrow. But the gnarled part at his hairline was gone, hidden behind a clever swoop of hair. He turned his head from side to side, checking every angle. “Wow. I almost look like- um-”

“I know,” Kurt said with a laugh. “You look like the prince from The Little Mermaid. I know that’s one of your favorites.”

Blaine beamed up at him. “It- um, is.” He shook his head. “I was gonna- um, gonna say me. I almost look like me.”

Kurt’s gaze softened. “Good. I’m glad you like it. You ready to go?”

Blaine would never be ready to go. He nodded, that ice cold lump twisting in his stomach.

They’d decided to go to the station. Detective McMillan had assured him that they’d be in a room with a door, away from people listening. And that it wouldn’t be an interrogation room. Blaine had watched far too many reruns of CSI and Law and Order for that to be anything but terrifying. 

When they arrived, they were led to an office. He checked his phone. Three texts from his mom, wishing him luck and saying that she wished she could be there. He didn’t know whether he were more relieved or disappointed that she’d needed to stay home with John. As much as he didn’t want her listening to what he had to say, he could have used the moral support. He tucked the phone back into his pocket, taking a shaky breath. He pulled out his journal and laid it on his lap, playing with the pages in a nervous tic. 

By the time Detective McMillan came into the room, he felt like there was a metal band around his chest. He was going to have to tell this story again. A story he’d only ever told to Kurt when he’d thought he was dead. When all the panic could do was make him cry, mourn for a life he didn’t think he’d ever see again. Now, he could feel it, raw and visceral, an aching pain in his belly every time he thought about it. 

“Good morning.” She shook Kurt’s hand and reached for Blaine’s, not even blinking when he was off by more than a foot. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Kurt. Good to see you again, Blaine.” 

Blaine watched her sit behind the wooden desk. He almost wished she wouldn’t, that she’d stay on this side. He felt weirdly like he was in the principal’s office in school, like he’d done something wrong. He fiddled with his notebook, opening it to a marked, dog-eared page. 

The detective’s smile was kind when he finally looked up. “Can I ask why you’ve come in to talk with me? The last time we spoke, you didn’t seem optimistic about coming in.”

“I wanted to- um, to help.”

She raised an eyebrow, folding her hands on the desk. “Nothing sparked this? You’ll have to forgive me, but you’ve been awake for a long time. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again.”

Blaine and his speech therapist had called her, together, when setting the appointment. They’d discussed Blaine needing time to write his answers. So, the detective was patient as he wrote out his response. He bit his lip, looking between the words on the page, the detective’s expectant expression, and Kurt. He sent him a silent apology, knowing they probably should have had a conversation about this before coming to the station. He looked down and started to read.

“I saw one of them.” Kurt’s intake of air was quiet enough that the detective may not have heard it. Blaine did. “I was out with my mom, buying groceries, and one of them came up to talk to me. I didn’t realize they’d be there, out in my hometown, close to me. In my head, I guess I hoped they’d moved on. That what happened to me may have affected them as much as it did me. But- but it didn’t. They’re fine.” He swallowed hard, looking up at the detective. “It brought it- um, home. That they’re- they’re still- they could do this- um, again. To me or- or to- um, someone else.”

Detective McMillan nodded, her expression harder than it had been. “With no witnesses and minimal evidence at the scene, the case went cold fairly quickly. We never arrested any suspects.” Blaine couldn’t help but wonder how thin the evidence had really been. Had they even tried to find who had done it? Or was there some reluctance to look too far into the bashing of the school’s resident queer. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “This is really brave, Blaine. Now, do you have a statement you want to start with?”

Blaine nodded. He didn’t look to Kurt. He couldn’t. Whatever expression was on his face, he didn’t want to know. Instead, he focused on the words he’d chosen so carefully. They’d been scratched out, rewritten, erased so many times that in places, the paper was tissue thin. He’d searched for words until he thought he’d go crazy, debating whether to call the detective at all. The final product wasn’t eloquent. It wasn’t some moving speech or Hollywood-written story. It was just him. Clumsy, stuttering, shaky hands and all.

He talked about asking Andrew to the dance. He didn’t mention the excitement and nerves that had made him jittery for hours, or the grin that hadn’t left his face until the next morning. He spoke of pictures at his place without mentioning the way he’d blushed or how handsome Andrew had looked. He talked about dancing. He was very clear that they danced primarily in groups, surrounded by the girls in his class that he’d once counted as friends. There was a lump in his throat, then, but he managed to push through. He remembered the girl who had seen them, just before they’d been dragged around the corner of the building. He remembered her silence. He told her about the kiss, his voice catching. He kept his phrasing clinical, simple. There was no way to describe the joy in that moment, the way his heart had nearly pounded out of his chest. He paused, sipping at the water Kurt had insisted he bring along. He never looked up. He could hear the scratch of a pen on paper as the detective took notes. Kurt was a constant presence beside him. But he kept his eyes on the paper, trying to distance himself, to make this just a story he had to read out loud. He talked about the heat in the gym, their decision to go home, walking out of the double doors. He mentioned his hand in Andrew’s, and it all became too real. He could almost feel the soft fabric of his dress shirt. If he reached up, there would be a bright blue bow tie around his neck. His breathing picked up. No matter how hard he stared at the words on the page, they were blurry. He couldn’t make them out. He couldn’t finish. He bit back a soft sound, trying to pull himself together.

Kurt’s hand found his and squeezed. “Blaine,” he said softly. 

Blaine jerked a little at the touch, then looked up. Kurt’s cheeks were damp. He’d been crying. But his eyes were clear. He smiled reassuringly, and it made whatever resolve Blaine had been holding onto crumble away. 

“Can I?” he gestured to the journal. 

Blaine swallowed hard, then took the notebook in shaking hands. He gave it to Kurt and closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. Five things he could see. Andrew’s hair. Concrete. Street light. No, no, things in the room. He focused on Kurt, watching his face as he found the place where Blaine’s voice had given out. 

“Pete had my arm pinned behind me. It hurt badly enough that I couldn’t move. I tried to get to Andrew when they took him away, but I couldn’t get away from Pete and Max. They dragged him around the corner of the building. I could hear the impacts,” Kurt paused, taking a slow breath, then continued, “I could hear Andrew screaming, but I couldn’t see him. I don’t remember what he was saying, but I know he was screaming. He’d been calm, until then. He’d been trying to placate them by telling them we were headed home. Max hit me a few times. It’s hard to remember where. Mostly my stomach, I think. It felt like my entire body was hurting. But I remember that it was- it was hard to breathe. My chest ached.” He swallowed hard and found Blaine’s hand, lacing their fingers together. His voice was steady, though there were fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. “Eventually, Pete let go. I ended up on the ground. I couldn’t move, much. Max and Pete were talking, I think. I can’t remember what they said. It’s all a little fuzzy. And then Max kicked me in the ribs. My doctors have talked about the fact that my ribs did some damage to my lungs. That’s how it happened. Has to be. It felt like I was trying to breathe underwater, like I was drowning. I just wanted to go home. The last thing I remember is Max pulling back his foot and a snapping sound in my head. I don’t remember anything else from that night.”

Kurt handed the notebook back to Blaine. He was pale, shaky. Blaine knew he’d heard this story before, but it didn’t get any easier. It wasn’t any easier for Blaine, and he relived it most nights. He squeezed Kurt’s fingers carefully. 

He took a shaky breath and looked up at the detective. Her face was impassive as she took notes, though there were deep lines in her forehead. “All of this makes sense with what we know from your medical report, Blaine. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but your shoulder was dislocated, you had multiple broken ribs. Bruising that fit with the kinds of blows you described. And, of course, the head injury.”

Blaine nodded, feeling numb and vaguely sick. He’d never seen his medical file. So much of the damage had healed when he was asleep, he hadn’t actually had to feel it. The doctors had mentioned it in passing on multiple occasions, but it had always seemed somehow distant from the dance, itself. 

“Do you know why you two were targeted?” she asked, looking at him. “I know you mentioned a few times that they were reacting to you and Andrew together, but is that specifically why you were the victims?” 

Blaine made a face, not really sure why she would ask such an obvious question. It took him longer to write than he would have liked, his handwriting a shaky scrawl across the page. 

“Max told us the night of the dance. We kissed. Andrew held my hand on the way out of the building. And Pete told me again, when I ran into him in the grocery store.” He wished he could choose what his faulty memory would erase from his brain. He’d give up that conversation with Pete any time. “He said they didn’t mean it to go that far, but we were being gross, and we had to be taught a lesson.”

Detective McMillan nodded, making another note. “Alright, Blaine. One last thing. You’ve called them by name, but only first names. Can you identify all four of your attackers?” 

Blaine swallowed hard and took a deep breath. 

“Alex Dean. Danny Parker. Pete Bates.”

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “And- um, Max Somerset.”

Detective McMillan raised an eyebrow. “Somerset, huh?”

Blaine nodded. 

She finished writing down the names and closed her notebook. “Thank you both for your help. Blaine, your statement is going to help put these guys away. I promise that I’m not going to let this go, okay? We’ll take a look at the evidence again, see if there’s anything we missed. We’re going to do everything by the book. These guys won’t be getting off on some sort of technicality. We’re going to make this right.”

Odd choice of wording. Blaine wanted to ask if she could give him back the past three years of his life. If she could give him a graduation, friends, a first year of college. If she could take back his speech impediment and the memory loss. If she could give him legs that would walk and run and dance for hours. What was broken would never be made right. As Kurt wheeled him out of the police station and into the cool air of the day, he wondered what exactly he’d just set in motion. The detective wanted to repair the irreparable. But what did Blaine want?


	11. Miss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you all for the love on the last chapter. I'm glad to know that the angst hasn't made you all hate me, yet. I'd say that the worst is over, but... you know... you've read the last two.
> 
> I do have to apologize that additions to this story are going to be slow for a little while. I'm leaving at the end of this week to be with my family for the holiday, and then I'll be out of the country for a week and a half. I was planning on catching up and getting ahead so that I could be posting for you guys, but it didn't end up happening. Please bear with me. After the start of the year, I'll be back with a vengeance. Updates should start being more regular about a month from today (middle of January-ish). In the meantime, I'll do what I can to respond to comments and get you what chapters I can. Thank you so much for your patience!

The days after Blaine made his statement were hard. Kurt was still reeling from the fact that Blaine had seen one of his attackers and hadn’t mentioned it. In their dozens of conversations since, he’d never once brought up the fact that the guys who had tried to kill him were still in the same town. Kurt found himself glaring at anyone who came too close when they went on their daily walks around the neighborhood. He was paranoid that the random strangers who stared when they were in public had malicious intent. He couldn’t seem to stop focusing on it, on the possibility that someone could see Blaine, his Blaine, and want to hurt him, even after all this time. 

And if he wasn’t okay, Blaine was a mess. 

The panic attacks wouldn’t seem to stop. Blaine was afraid of everything. He kept having nightmares. Pam had taken him home once his meeting with the detective was over, but Kurt was still seeing him as often as he was allowed. He had constant dark circles under his eyes, he’d avoid going home to sleep as long as possible when Kurt was able to take him out. He wouldn’t tell Kurt what he was dreaming about. Kurt wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. Pam had put her foot down about any more sleepovers, calling the first one a ‘special circumstance’, even if Kurt had been able to help with the bad dreams the night before the’d met with McMillan. Kurt had practically heard John’s voice coming out of her mouth through the phone when she’d told him.

Kurt stayed in Ohio as long as he could, letting emails and phone calls and texts from work pile up. After a week, there was nothing he could do. Charlie sent him a warning that his job was going to vanish at the coffee shop if he didn’t pick up a shift soon. Isabelle had texted a 9-1-1 to make sure that he was still alive and planning on coming back. His rent was due, and he had to pay it in person due to ridiculous apartment policies. He had to go back. 

He stood in the snow outside of Blaine’s house, taking a deep breath as he walked to the door. It should be warming up. The snow should be melting, there should be rain washing away the cold of winter. Instead, they’d had another three inches the night before, and Kurt could see his breath. He stepped onto the porch and closed his eyes for a moment. He’d warned Blaine that he was leaving today. He hadn’t ever received a reply. That was typical. Blaine had never been the most reliable texter. Now, he was downright terrible. He knocked, bouncing on his toes to stay warm. 

Instead of Pam, it was John who opened the door. Kurt’s stomach sank. John always meant a fight, and he wanted to avoid that. Especially within earshot of Blaine.

“I’m just here to see Blaine,” he said quietly, “I need to say goodbye before I head back to New York.”

John shook his head. “You can’t.”

Kurt gestured over his shoulder, trying to control his frustration. “My dad’s waiting in the car. My flight leaves in three hours. I’m not going to be here long; I just need to see him one more time.”

John sighed. Kurt took a look and realized that this was the first time he’d ever seen John look as exhausted as Pam. The circles under his eyes rivaled Blaine’s. When Kurt glanced down, he realized that he was wearing jeans and no shoes. Kurt wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him out of a suit. “It doesn’t matter when your flight is. You can’t see Blaine because he isn’t here.”

Kurt’s eyes widened in alarm, and any empathy he felt for John flew out the window. “What happened? Is he in the hospital? Did he have a panic attack that bad?” He didn’t even know if it was possible to have a panic attack that could hospitalize someone. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t about to find out. “Is it his seizure meds? They’ve been adjusting them, right? I thought they were working better.”

John pressed his thumb and middle finger against his head, rubbing circles against his temples. “Stop with the shrieking. He’s not dying, he’s not in the hospital. He’s at an appointment.” 

Kurt felt a flash of embarrassment that he tried to push down. John had never outright commented on his voice. He straightened his shoulders, looking John in the eye. “No. He does PT on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. He has speech on Wednesdays and Fridays, and he always tells me before he goes in for his monthly checkup with his neurologist, which I’m pretty sure was last week, anyway.”

John’s eyebrow raised, something in his posture shifting. Kurt couldn’t tell whether he was affronted or impressed. He fought the urge to roll his eyes and spoke through gritted teeth. “Stop being surprised that I care about your son and just tell me what’s going on.” He cleared his throat. “Please.”

John was silent for a long time, giving Kurt the same appraising look that he remembered from their first meeting in his dad’s shop. “He has a new doctor. If he wants to tell you about it, he can. I won’t. He’ll be back in an hour and a half. You can wait here, or you can go.”

A new doctor. Blaine already had a doctor for nearly everything. Specialists for speech and head trauma, a GP to take care of the aches and pains of recovery, as well as general illnesses, physical therapists. If he had a new doctor, then something new must be happening that Kurt didn’t know about. He chewed on his lip. An hour and a half would mean he’d miss his flight. He may be able to catch a later one, but Vogue wouldn’t pay for a change in flight this close to takeoff, and he was already going to be cutting it close to get his rent to the office in time. He could talk to Blaine about whatever this was over the phone. He took a breath and blew it out between his teeth. “Will you at least tell him I was here?”

He didn’t trust John’s dismissive nod, but it was the best he could do. 

As soon as he made it home from the airport, he was accosted with people worried about Blaine, worried about him, worried about the future. Rachel spent twenty minutes grilling him, wanting details that were far too personal, even for his best friend. Even their other roommate, Cody, popped his head out from his bedroom to ask if he was alright. What Kurt really needed was a little breathing room, a little time to process. He reassured them all, doing his best to put a happy face on it.

He didn’t hear from Blaine. He kept checking his phone, but there was nothing. Whatever appointment he’d had should have been over ages ago. They were getting close to when he normally went to sleep. And still, not so much as a text. 

Hours later, he collapsed back onto the sofa with a sigh, running his hands over his face. He should be asleep. He’d been steadily working his way through the dozens (hundreds) of emails and texts from work, trying to get on top of what he needed to do. It hadn’t helped. He felt just as lost, and Blaine wasn’t answering his texts.

Rachel appeared in the doorway, holding a mug. He looked up, frowning slightly. “If you want to ask more questions about the detective, I’ve told you everything. I really can’t handle another interrogation right now, Rachel.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I figured you could use some tea. You’ve been pacing all day. Since you’re finally sitting, I thought you might be ready to try to get some rest. And before you ask, I’ve hidden all of the coffee.”

Kurt blinked. “Didn’t realize you’d been paying that much attention.”

She shrugged. “You told me you’d be gone for two days and you’ve been gone over a week. You haven’t actually talked about anything that happened.”

Kurt groaned. “I’ve done nothing but talk about what happened. That’s all I’ve been doing all day.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, exasperated. “No, you’ve walked through the events of the day. That doesn’t tell me how you’re actually doing.” She walked toward him, practically shoving the mug of tea into his hands. “If you don’t talk about the emotional impact of something traumatic, it only makes the situation worse. My dads taught me that. You need to process your emotions, Kurt.”

Kurt glared at her, but he took the stupid mug of tea anyway. He sipped at it slowly, hating that it helped. “He hasn’t texted. Or called. Or anything.”

Rachel hummed. “From the way you’ve been acting, I can only assume that he’s in the midst of his own emotional breakdown.”

“I am not having a breakdown!”

Rachel flinched at the volume of his voice and huffed out a breath. “Even I know you wore that outfit on the way out to Ohio. And your hair is deflated. Not to mention that you’ve cleaned the bathroom three times and you’ve only been home a few hours.”

Kurt ran his fingers through his hair. It was true. His hair was falling in his face, the way it used to when he was a kid. And their bathroom was immaculate. He groaned, sinking further into the couch cushions. “Fine. Maybe a little bit of a breakdown. But you didn’t see him, Rachel.”

She made a little gesture for him to continue. 

“He’s just… He made it through the interview fine, but since then, it’s like something’s flipped in his head. He barely answers questions, he won’t talk to me about anything. He’s not sleeping, he’s barely eating, he panics if someone so much as talks too loudly around him. But he won’t freaking talk to me about it.”

Rachel hummed. “Well, have you tried communicating in song? It’s always worked for you before.”

Kurt glared at her. “We’re not arguing about a solo, Rachel, or trying to share our feelings about Quinn’s nose. He can barely remember the names of his own doctors half the time, he’s not going to be able to remember song lyrics, even if it did make sense to try to talk to him that way.”

Rachel shrugged her shoulders, looking at Kurt with that superior expression he’d always hated. “You never know. Music is healing. I would have sung to him, if he were my boyfriend.”

Kurt groaned and wiped his hand over his face, trying to block thoughts of how easy it would be to throw her tiny little body into the Hudson river. 

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Go to bed. Talk to him in the morning. Maybe he just needs a little time.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “That was almost helpful advice.”

She grinned, letting go of his hand. “Of course. I need you to stop bringing your negative energy into the apartment. It’s ruining my rehearsals for my audition tomorrow.”

Kurt snorted and rolled his eyes. “You are the most selfish person in the world when it comes to solving problems, Berry.”

“Made you smile,” Rachel said easily as she stood and headed for the door.

Kurt glared at her, though she was right. He just had to hope that tomorrow, Blaine would be ready to talk.

He wasn’t.

Kurt threw himself into his work. He became Isabelle’s right hand man. He took on extra editing jobs, started picking up samples from designers for spring photo shoots. Whenever he wasn’t at Vogue, he’d pick up shifts at the coffee shop. He had to keep himself busy, or he was going to go insane. 

Over the next week, he barely heard from Blaine. They texted, but he wasn’t able to talk on the phone. His speech had been bad. Disastrous, actually. The result was barely any communication. Kurt hadn’t even found out what the mystery appointment had been the day he’d left Ohio. But that was going to change. It was Friday. Every Friday night, they’d spend their evenings on Skype, talking about anything and everything and nothing at all. Blaine felt more comfortable writing when Kurt could see him, Kurt felt more comfortable seeing Blaine’s face. Kurt would finally be able to get some answers, check in on Blaine’s sleeping, make sure that he was really recovering.

Kurt checked the clock hanging above his cubicle. 3:00. Two more hours, and all he had to focus on for the rest of the weekend was Blaine. And a few shifts with Charlie, but that was nothing to worry about. He looked up to see Jason walking toward him through the row of cubes and held back a sigh. Jason was the kindest walking disaster Kurt had ever met. He was a journalism major, not a fashion student. After the fiasco with the article he’d tried to write while Kurt was out of town, Kurt had become more and more his mentor in the fashion world. It was a good distraction from the situation with Blaine, but it was exhausting. “Hey, what’s up?”

Jason pushed his glasses up on his nose as he held out a tray full of ties. “Help?”

The sigh escaped. “Jason, that’s rust,” he pointed to the tie on the right, “and those are goldenrod. Why are you bringing me fall ties at the end of April? Are these supposed to be for the spring shoot?”

At Jason’s helpless shrug, Kurt groaned. He glanced at the clock again. He had nearly two hours until the end of the day. Even Jason couldn’t be incompetent enough to take two hours to find a tie.

“How? How are you possibly working at a fashion magazine when you don’t know the difference between spring and fall colors? It’s the most blatant of all elements of design.”

Jason ran his fingers through his hair. “I get that. I do. Really. But that’s yellow and that’s red, and Isabelle wants a warm-colored tie. So… these should work, yeah?”

Kurt just stared at him. From the way Jason cowered, he knew his expression must not be pleasant. But really? Yellow and red? “Vault. Now. You are going to learn this crap, Jason, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Ha!” Kurt pulled a bright red bow tie out of the pile he’d been sorting through for the past ten minutes at least. He was buried deep in the sample room, looking for the tie that would perfectly bring together one of the looks Isabelle wanted in the May issue. He called Jason over. “This! This is the proper red. Orange-based, not blue, bright enough to be an accent, but not that atrocious red-orange thing that you’ve brought me three times today. See?” 

Jason frowned down at the bow tie, comparing it to the straight tie he was holding. “They’re exactly the same color.”

Kurt’s patience was getting a workout today. “No, Jason. They’re completely different colors. That red would clash horrifically with the rest of the outfit. This red will fit right in.” He carefully handed over the tie. “If you lose that or confuse it with another color, I will freaking kill you.”

He watched Jason toss the other red ties on the floor, inwardly cringing. Even a bow tie deserved more respect than that. Jason looked up at him, gratitude practically rolling off him in waves. “Thank you so much, Kurt! If it took you this long to find, it would’ve taken me years. I can’t believe you stayed late for this.”

“Late?” Kurt’s brow furrowed. They’d wasted some time digging through samples in Jason’s cube, but they’d been in the vault by 3:30 at the latest. He shook his head. “There’s no way, we’ve only been in here,” he turned his watch to look and his stomach crashed through his toes. 7:08. He was more than two hours late. “Shit,” he breathed. “Jason, you have to clean this up. Organize them by designer or I’m letting Isabelle know that you almost sent her a burnt orange skinny tie!” 

He didn’t wait for Jason’s response, sprinting out of the room. The elevator took forever. People on the sidewalks were walking at a snail’s pace. He’d never hated the delays in the New York subway system so much. It took him twenty minutes longer than it usually did to make it home. When he finally walked through the door, it was nearly 8.

He slammed open his laptop and opened Skype. 

Messages. From Blaine. 

**4:45 Can’t wait to talk to yuo tonight!**

**5:34 Got done w ith Speech early. Wanna talk now?**

**6:02 Running late?**

**6:24 Youre not answering my texts. You okay?**

**6:33 Kurt?**

**6:35: Is my calnedar wrong? **

**6:37 It says ‘Skype Kurt’. It’s in your handwritingg. **

**6:39 It’s Friday, right?**

**6:49 I gues you’re busy.**

7:27 Blaine Anderson logged off. 

Kurt swallowed hard. He scrambled for his phone (2 missed calls, half a dozen texts). He’d somehow forgotten to check it during the Great Tie Search. He called and waited as it rang. Eventually, he heard a click, and then the sound of his own voice. 

“Hi! You’ve reached the phone of Blaine Anderson. Say hi, Blaine!”

Blaine’s voice, from far away, “Hi Blaine!”

“Leave a message after the beep!”

Kurt hung up, stomach feeling hollow. 

It was their very first missed Skype call. 

It wouldn’t be their last.


	12. Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack!!
> 
> Thank you to you all for being so patient with me. I had a lovely holiday with my family, and then the chance to do some sightseeing, which was truly fabulous. Now that I'm back, I should be able to get back to the two updates a week schedule.
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments on the last chapter and for sticking with me. I apologize for the long break, but I hope everyone had the opportunity to spend some time with the people you love for the holidays. Happy 2020!

Something was wrong. Blaine had missed both Tuesday’s and Thursday’s PT sessions completely, and now he was half an hour late on Saturday morning. He hadn’t missed a PT session in ages, and never without a good reason. Alex was about to call his mother to see what was going on when he finally spotted the two of them. Blaine’s head was lowered, his hair in his eyes, arms crossed over his chest like a petulant child. Pam was pushing him around, something Alex hadn’t seen since Blaine had become strong enough to move on his own. He hated being dependent on other people unless it was absolutely necessary.

Alex watched them for a moment before walking over, plastering a smile on his face as he reached for Mrs. Anderson’s hand. “Glad you could make it. I was starting to worry.”

Pam looked nearly as bad as Blaine, dark circles under her eyes and her hair shoved back in a messy bun. She shook Alex’s hand quickly before grabbing the handles of Blaine’s chair like she was afraid he’d try to roll away. 

“Thanks for wheeling him in, I can handle it from here,” Alex said pleasantly.

She looked hesitant, glancing down at her son. “He wasn’t feeling well this morning.” 

Alex inwardly sighed, wishing she’d be a bit more specific. ‘Not feeling well’ with Blaine could mean anything from a panic attack to a seizure to eating bad Mexican the night before. She had yet to learn that specificity was her friend and that no one here was going to judge Blaine for his medical situation. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said easily. “I’m sure Blaine and I will talk about it, if we need to.”

“I wasn’t even certain whether I should bring him.”

Alex reached for her hands again, gently prying them off the handles of the wheelchair. “Pam, I’ve got this. If he starts feeling poorly again, we’re surrounded by an excellent medical staff. I promise I’ll come find you if he so much as sneezes. You can wait in the room down the hall, you won’t be far away.”

She looked at him with an unreadable expression, then glanced back down at her son. Alex had a feeling that things in the Anderson house might be a bit rough, at the moment. “Fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll be right out in the waiting room if you need anything, Blaine. Don’t hesitate to text if you’d like to go home early.” 

Blaine didn’t so much as look up. 

Alex looked Blaine up and down as Pam left the gym. He was still staring at the floor, looking utterly despondent. He hadn’t said a word to Alex, he wasn’t looking around at the equipment. Alex grabbed the handles of his chair and started to push him not toward the workout machines, but out the door of the gym. When they passed the threshold, Blaine seemed to wake up a little. 

“Where are we- um, going?”

“We’re going to work practical strength today, bud,” Alex said easily as he pushed him through the hall. “The kind of thing we don’t need the gym for.” He stopped them at an empty room with a chair and a bed, wheeling Blaine inside and locking the brakes of his wheelchair. He pulled the door closed behind them, moved the visitor’s chair to sit opposite Blaine, and sat. “Okay. Spill.”

Blaine just blinked at him. 

“You look like somebody’s run over your cat. You haven’t been to see me for two appointments, and then you can’t even be bothered to say hello. Your mom looks like she’s been ripping her hair out. Spill.”

Blaine sighed quietly. “Can’t I just- um, work out?”

“Nope,” Alex said simply. “That’s the downside of having a physical therapist who’s also your friend, bud. It means you have to talk to me.”

Blaine glared down at the arm of his wheelchair, picking at it with his fingernails. Alex was patient. He waited until Blaine spoke. 

“I- I talked to- um, to the- the- the-... cop this weekend.”

Alex couldn’t hide his surprise. “Wow. Blaine, that’s incredible.” He grinned at his friend, trying to catch his eye. He couldn’t. His smile fell a little. This should be a good thing, even if it had been hard. “I know how scary that must have been for you. But you’ve done it. You faced that fear.” When Blaine didn’t react, he tilted his head to the side. “Are you okay? How have you been since?”

Blaine swallowed hard and Alex realized he was misreading the situation. Blaine wasn’t glaring at inanimate objects because he was angry. He was trying not to cry. 

“Not- not good,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “I can’t- can’t stop- um, panicking. My- my speech is really- um, bad. I haven’t been- um, been able to talk to- to... to Kurt much.”

Alex grimaced. He could only imagine what Blaine was going through. To have to relive all of that trauma with the police and then lose his main support system must be beyond difficult. He knew Mrs. Anderson tried, but she wasn’t what Kurt was for him, no matter how much she wanted to be. 

Blaine was quiet for a moment. “My- um, my mom took me to see a- um, a-...” He trailed off, eyes closed, brow furrowed in concentration. Eventually, he shrugged. “Head doctor.”

Alex blinked, then breathed out a sigh of relief. Blaine had needed a mental health specialist since the moment he woke up. Finally getting to see one was a good thing, whether or not he sounded excited about it. “I know that might not be your favorite idea, but I think it’s a good one.”

Blaine shrugged again. 

“You know, someone like that could help you out a lot with the panicking. Might even make your speech better, in the long run.”

“I know that.” Blaine’s tone was clipped, short. 

Alex sat back a bit. He wasn’t used to Blaine snapping. 

Blaine’s voice softened when he spoke again. “Kurt was- was there.”

Alex hummed. “When you talked to the doctor, or the detective?”

“Detective.”

“Good. I know you wanted him there.”

Blaine swallowed hard. “We’ve- We’ve- um, barely talked since. And- and yesterday, he- um, he-... didn’t show up for our... um, our Skype date.”

Alex frowned. “That doesn’t sound like him. Do you know why he missed it?”

Blaine shook his head. 

“And you’re upset about it?”

Blaine was quiet for a long moment. “He- he- um, he sort of- of left. Without- um, without saying… saying goodbye. He was there when I- when I-,” he screwed up his face in concentration again, and Alex saw a tear slip down his cheek. “Talked. When I talked to the- to the-,” he waved his arm, and Alex nodded to show he understood. “Then I was- I was panicking and I couldn’t- He was having to- um, to deal with- with so much. And then he- he was leaving and- um, I think- I think- I think he told me, but I- I, um, I went to my-,” he let out a frustrated sound and wiped at his face. He didn’t miss. At least there was that, though Alex didn’t think he’d notice. “I went to my- my appointment, and then he was- he was gone. What if-,” he looked up at Alex, eyes shining, “What if he thinks I’m- I’m- um, too…” He was quiet for a long time, breaking eye contact and looking back down at the arm of the wheelchair. “Crazy.” 

Alex’s heart cracked in his chest as he finally understood what had happened. Blaine had talked to the detective and dragged up everything he’d been burying since waking. Kurt had been there to support him. Blaine had needed a little extra help in the week following, had been maybe acting a little erratically. Then he’d gone to see a therapist, something he already felt vulnerable about, and Kurt had vanished. Combined with a missed Skype date, it was a lot. Alex gave himself a little time to think over what he needed to say. Clearly, Kurt and Blaine needed to talk. But Alex had given Blaine that advice dozens of times. Possibly hundreds. Maybe he needed to try a different tactic. 

“You’re not crazy,” he said firmly. “You’re dealing with trauma. With what you’ve been through, a little bit of panicking is perfectly normal. And talking to a therapist is the best possible thing you could do. It really will help, B. And I’m proud of you for taking that step. And for starting the process to press charges. That’s huge. Huge and incredibly brave.” He scooted forward and took Blaine’s hand. “Kurt’s going to understand all of that. If everything else hasn’t managed to scare him off, I don’t think a shrink will tip him over the edge.” He smiled gently at Blaine. “And you know what I always say. When you’re upset, the very best cure is a big old shot of endorphins. And I happen to have the perfect way to get some of those.” He squeezed Blaine’s hand and stood, kicking the visitor’s chair back. “We’re going to work on standing.”

Blaine seemed doubtful as Alex pulled out the walker and set it up in front of him. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t seem to notice Alex propping up Blaine’s phone on a pile of books and pressing record. “Come on, bud,” he said when everything was ready, bracing the walker so it couldn’t possibly move. “You’ve got this.”

Blaine moved his legs off the feet of the chair (without the assistance of his arms, Alex noted). He grabbed the handles of the walker. “I don’t- I don’t think I- um, can.” 

Alex just grinned. “Well, I know you can, and I’m your PT, so you have to listen to me. Just push. You’ve got this, Blaine. You know you do.”

Blaine chewed on his lip and glanced up at Alex. He sighed heavily, closed his eyes, and pushed. 

“Good,” Alex encouraged. “There you go. A little higher. Straighten your legs. Straighten your back. Come on, Blaine, you’ve got this.”

And then Blaine was standing. The walker was taking most of his weight, but he was on his feet. Alex beamed at him, though he didn’t try to catch his eye. Blaine’s face was screwed up with concentration, and he wasn’t about to break it. “We’re going to set a challenge.” He pulled out his phone and started a timer. “One minute, bud. Sixty seconds. That’s ages longer than you’ve stood before.”

Blaine let out a sound of protest, but he didn’t say a word. Maybe he couldn’t focus on both things at once. Alex took it as acceptance. He watched as Blaine puffed out breath after breath, grip on the walker white-knuckled. 

“Thirty seconds.” 

His breathing was heavy, but not erratic. As Alex watched, he straightened a little more, challenging himself. “Good. That’s really good, bud. You’ve got this. Fifteen more seconds.”

Blaine’s knees were starting to shake, but he didn’t give in. Alex knew him well enough to know he was hurting, but he wasn’t at his limit, yet. 

Alex counted down the last five seconds, then cheered as the timer went off. “A minute. That’s time.” He expected Blaine to collapse back into the chair with relief. 

Instead, Blaine shook his head, holding on a little tighter. The tears were gone, the sadness and fear replaced with the determination that Alex knew and loved. He checked Blaine’s posture again. Shaky, but not bad. “Okay, bud, if you’re willing, we’re going to try something new. Left foot forward. You can move it along the ground, that’s fine. But move toward me.” 

Blaine looked up at him, eyes wide, but Alex only nodded. “You can do this. It’s all about baby steps, right? Why not today?”

Blaine took a shaky breath and shifted his grip on the walker without losing his balance. “C-can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Alex said quietly. “You’ve got this. You talked to the detective this week. You’re still standing, and you’ve been on your feet longer than you have been since waking. You’re a badass, Blaine. You can do this. One step.”

Blaine swallowed hard. He was trembling, and some of the fear had crept back into his eyes, but he nodded. Alex watched as he took a couple of deep breaths through his nose, sweat standing out on his forehead. He closed his eyes and shifted his weight to his right foot, sliding the left forward by a few inches. 

“Good,” Alex encouraged, “Blaine, that’s amazing. Now just bring your right foot up to meet it.”

Blaine whimpered quietly. Alex could see that his knee was going to give out soon. “You’re halfway there, Blaine. Halfway to your first step in years. Come on, bud, just a little bit further and I promise we’ll be done.” He’d be sitting down soon, either way. If he moved, at least he’d have a full step under his belt. “Half a step, Blaine. You can do it.” 

For a moment, he thought Blaine’s knee would give out before he managed. He shifted his weight to his weaker leg, wobbled, and then slowly, his right foot started to move. It shifted to meet the left, and Alex whooped, moving immediately to bring the wheelchair up behind him. “Go ahead and sit, bud. You beyond earned it.”

Blaine flopped back into the chair in a way that made Alex glad he was holding onto it, brakes be damned. He walked back around to check on him, and couldn’t help the smile that broke out on his face. 

“I- I took a- um, a step.” Blaine looked utterly dumbfounded. Relief, joy, disbelief. He looked like he was going to start laughing and crying at the same time any moment.

Alex took his hand and squeezed, fighting to keep his own voice even. Blaine would get all embarrassed if he was teary-eyed with pride. “You, my friend, took your first step.”

He ruffled Blaine’s hair and moved to grab his phone. He turned off the recording and brought it over to snap a picture. The difference in Blaine from when he’d entered the gym to now was unbelievable. He handed the phone to Blaine and grinned. “So, I may have taken a video. You should watch that. On repeat. Whenever you feel like you’re not moving forward.” He watched Blaine’s expression as he pressed play on the video. “I’m proud of you, Blaine. Really proud. I know what that took today.” 

Blaine looked up at him and Alex had to clear his throat. He clapped Blaine on the shoulder and nodded, taking a half a step back. “I’ll be right back with a towel so we can get you cleaned up. Progress makes you stinky.” Blaine’s laugh as he left the room was the best thing he’d heard all week.

He paused at the door when he came back, hearing Blaine’s voice. He listened, not quite wanting to snoop, but trying to hear if he should interrupt. 

“Yeah,” a pause, “I- um, know.” A much longer pause. “It’s- it’s- okay. I just... yeah. It’s been a- um, a hard week.” A minute or two of silence. “You don’t- um, have to- to do that.” Another moment. “You really want to?” He could hear the smile in Blaine’s voice. “Yeah. Yes. Tonight. I can- um, I’ll be on at- at six. Can you- um, text to- to remind me?” Alex grinned. It had to be Kurt. “I wanted to- to tell you... something.” A short pause. “I took a- um, a step today.” Alex almost wished he could hear what Kurt said. Whatever it was, it made Blaine let out an embarrassed little laugh. “A real one!” Pause. “Uh huh. Alex took- um, took a- a video.” Another laugh, less embarrassed, more genuine. “I’ll send it, I- um, I promise.”

Alex hid his grin as he knocked, stepping into the room with a wink in Blaine’s direction. Blaine was beaming. His eyes were still a little red, the bags under them a little too deep, but he was full of that glow he only seemed to have when he was speaking to Kurt. 

Progress. It was a beautiful thing.


	13. May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for coming back to me after I took a few weeks off. It makes me so happy to know that you guys are still willing to read and comment and leave some kudos behind. You have no idea how much I appreciate you all.
> 
> This chapter is completely different from what it originally was, and I'm extremely happy with how the re-write went. This is one of my favorite chapters. Enjoy!

Blaine looked up at his doctor, clearly unimpressed.

“You don’t have to talk about this, we can just sit here,” she offered helpfully, smiling beneath her rectangular glasses.

“I just- um, just don’t see what this- what this has to do with- um, with-,” he sighed, closing his eyes, “anything.”

“Maybe it doesn’t.” She shrugged and tapped her pencil idly against her clipboard. “But you mentioned him in the first five minutes and you haven’t said another word. That’s not like you.”

Blaine glared at her for a long moment, arms crossed over his chest, feeling about as petulant as he looked. He genuinely liked his therapist, but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk to her about every tiny facet of his life. “It’s none of your- your- your business.”

She nodded. “True enough.” She ducked her head to catch his eye. “But he’s important to you. And I know you two have been a little on the rocks, lately. Would you rather we talk about the walking?”

Blaine’s walking was going well. The other day, he’d made it five feet before almost falling on his ass. Alex had him on a temporary time out after that stunt, but he didn’t mind. He’d been thrilled. And Kurt had been on skype, watching the whole thing. He’d almost cried. And then Kurt being Kurt, he’d had his dad deliver Blaine’s favorite ice cream and a movie, just to show how proud he was. Blaine found himself smiling at the memory and very quickly schooled his expression back into something appropriately frustrated.

He could tell from the smile she was trying to hide that he hadn’t been very successful. He huffed out a breath and shook his head. “I don’t- don’t want to be in- um,” pair, relationship, “um, couples’ therapy alone.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want that for you, either,” she said gently. “I just want to know how things are going. You’ve seemed happy today. Well, until now. I’m just wondering if that means you’ve made up with him. I don’t want to psychoanalyze your relationship.”

Blaine sighed, letting the tension ease out of his shoulders. He’d actually been a bit worried about that. He’d talked plenty about Alex and Sam. He’d mentioned his relationship with his mother. But he only ever talked about Kurt in abstracts. He thought it was better that way. He didn’t want that relationship poked and prodded. What if she said it wasn’t healthy? What if she thought they needed to break up? He played with the stress ball in his lap, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “He’s- um, he’s talking to me again and it’s- um,” he flushed, ducking his head, “it’s really good.”

Dr. Price grinned. “I’m so happy to hear that. Did you talk things through?”

“Yeah,” Blaine mumbled, glancing up to meet her bright blue eyes. She was youngish, with curly hair and an easygoing personality. She listened to him through his speech issues without any trouble at all, never finishing his sentences for him. Most importantly, she didn’t push when he didn’t feel like talking. Until today, anyway. And he knew if he were to say no properly, she would immediately back down.

He’d been terrified in his first appointment, thinking that she was going to force him to go through the incident that had led him here in excruciating detail. Instead, she’d spent the first twenty minutes letting him sit, silent and stubborn, arms crossed over his chest. When he’d finally gotten too sick of the silence to let it continue, she’d spend the rest of the session talking to him about hair products that might be easy enough for him to use. She hadn’t said a word about Sadie Hawkins or the fact that he couldn’t say two words without stuttering or his appointment with the detective. She hadn’t mentioned cognitive issues or recall problems or seizure medications. His mom had nearly fired her when she found out what they’d discussed. She thought it was frivolous. Useless. She’d backed off quickly when Blaine came out of his room the next morning unprompted and not wearing his beanie. He couldn’t quite manage his old hairstyle, but that was alright. He wasn’t who he’d been. If everything else had to change, why not his hair?

Since that first appointment, Dr. Price been helping him with little things. He’d talked a bit about nightmares, and she’d helped teach him relaxation and meditation techniques he could try before bed. It wasn’t perfect, he still had bad dreams, but he could relax and fall asleep again much more quickly. He’d mentioned his frustration with texting and she’d given him suggestions for predictive text apps that could help him choose from words if he managed to get the spelling close enough. She’d suggested a digital organization system when she’d noticed his notebook, stuffed to the brim with sticky notes. When he’d turned her down, she instead helped him find office supplies that would help keep his multicolored sticky notes sorted. Each suggestion was unobtrusive, small. Each one mitigated a tiny problem. He knew that there was no reason his life should be better because of a little spray gel and some post-it organizers. And yet, it was. She helped him feel a little more like himself, helped him sound like less of an idiot when he texted, let him spend an hour feeling like it was normal to talk the way he did. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it mattered. 

Still, he didn’t want to talk to her about Kurt. He knew that eventually they’d have to talk about something more important than the little problems. He knew that eventually he’d have to admit that he was slowing down Kurt’s life, dragging him back to Ohio. He’d have to discuss the fact that he had trouble sleeping if Kurt hadn’t talked to him much through the day, and that he couldn’t picture a future for himself without Kurt in it. He didn’t want to drag all of that into the light. 

“I’m glad you two were able to work it out. You know, he seems like a nice guy. You’ll have to actually tell me about him sometime. Or maybe even let me see a picture? All of your other doctors have been able to meet him. I’m starting to feel a little left out.” Her eyes sparkled as she teased him, and he managed to look slightly annoyed. She didn’t believe it for a second. 

Still, his expression did become more serious. There was another reason he hadn’t wanted to talk about Kurt. “We haven’t- um, haven’t talked about- about this yet.”

She tilted her head, smiling at him softly. “I know that it’s scary to admit that you’re getting help. But from what you’ve told me about him, I think he’d probably be really proud of you for trying.” She glanced down at her watch. “Alright, I’ve got to let you go. But you’ve got my number if you need anything.”

She always told him that, like he was going to forget. To be fair, he did. Almost every time. He patted his notebook and nodded. “I’ve- um, I’ve got it.”

She nodded and stood to shake his hand, the same way she ended every appointment. He had a feeling that if he let her, she’d be a hugger. Instead, he shook her hand and then grabbed for wheels of his chair, heading for the door. Kurt was coming today. He needed to be home on time.

Kurt had been a lot more responsive since the missed Skype call, though it was mostly via text. He’d had to switch flights twice for his visit this month to accommodate stuff for work, but he’d always checked with Blaine to be sure it’d be okay. They were trying to keep their delicate balance. Given that Blaine had needed him for nearly a week last time, he was trying to compromise. But, it was finally Saturday, close to noon, and Kurt would be there any minute. 

He hoped it’d be any minute. 

He wheeled himself under the piano in the living room when he arrived home. Yet another thing he’d been avoiding talking to his therapist about. Before the accident, he’d played all the time. It had been his way of processing things. Sad? Play something low and slow and sweet. Happy? Break out the Disney. Angry? Something classical, with pounding chords that jumped from the highest keys to the lowest, the sort of thing that took all of his concentration. 

He hadn’t tried since he’d been hurt. His hands didn’t know where they were, anymore. He missed when reaching for his toothbrush or a pen. How could he possibly position them correctly for a song? He couldn’t remember the word for door or book or window. He could read, but he was slower at it than he’d been before. Every single skill he needed to make music was lacking.

He sat, staring at the keys like they’d start playing themselves, if he could only concentrate enough. No such luck. The piano remained silent.

He took a deep breath and reached for middle C. He landed on the G above. Not terrible. Not great. He swallowed hard and moved his hand to the correct note, key by key. He could try something simple. Scales that he’d been forced to practice in lessons when he was a kid. Everyone could play scales, right? His fingers went foul on the second note. In a C major scale. No accidentals, all he had to do was move his fingers up and back down the white keys. He frowned down at his hand, feeling his stomach drop. If he couldn’t handle scales, what would he be able to play? 

He took a deep breath through his nose. He’d always hated scales. Music to him wasn’t about precision, it was about emotion. Drills had never been something that had captured his attention. Maybe he needed to play something he enjoyed. 

He repositioned his hands for a song he’d played hundreds of times, thousands. It had been one of his favorites when he was a kid, the opening song to Hunchback of Notre Dame. He carefully placed each finger, trying not to be too frustrated as each one missed on the first attempt. He started to play slowly, haltingly, glaring at his fingers every time they hit a wrong note. When he attempted to correct them, they’d miss by a mile. No matter how carefully he watched, he couldn’t seem to force them to cooperate. The frustration mounted measure after measure as his hands seemed to go everywhere except where he needed them. He groaned, slamming his hands down in a discordant noise, frustrated beyond belief. He couldn’t do this. 

He rested his elbows on the keys and his head in his hands, eyes stinging. Typing on his phone was a nightmare. Typing on a keyboard even worse. He’d aim at an ‘A’ and somehow end up on a 6. Why would he think this would be any different? No matter how hard he tried, it was like his eyes and his hands were on two different wavelengths.

He blinked, humming to himself. His eyes. Maybe that was the problem. There was a disconnect between sight and feel. Whenever he looked, he made mistakes. He chewed on his lip as he sat back up in his chair. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reaching for the keys. He felt his way over the flats and sharps until he settled his hands where they should be by feel alone. He’d been playing this song since he was seven. He knew the music like he knew his own soul. He had a brief moment of panic. What if he couldn’t remember the tune? What if his mind went blank, the way it did when he was searching for a word or trying to remember whether or not he’d eaten breakfast? His fingers felt frozen to the keys. He couldn’t quite build up the courage to press them down enough to make a noise. But he wanted this. His soul ached to be able to express himself in the purest way he’d ever known. He was alone. His mother had gone straight to her office on the other side of the house to get some work done. His father was out of town on yet another business trip. If he made mistakes, if he couldn’t remember, then at least he’d have tried. That had to be worth the risk. 

He cleared his throat, forcibly pulled his shoulders away from his ears, and started to play. 

Muscle memory took over, rusty from years of disuse. He was hesitant, at first, and his fingers showed it. A sharp where there should be a natural, a hesitation in the rhythm, a missed note in a run of thirty-seconds. Slowly, he relaxed into it, humming the melody under his breath. He stopped thinking, stopped worrying about perfect rhythm and finger placement and whether or not he should be on the sustain pedal and just breathed the music in. His touch grew more confident. His body started to move with the rhythm in the bass, shoulders swelling with a crescendo, head tipping to the side as he eased off with a poignant gracenote. His heart ached, his muscles burned. He felt a sense of freedom that he hadn’t experienced once since the night of the attack. For a brief moment, he wasn’t ‘Blaine Anderson, trauma victim.’ He was an orchestra, building beautiful music note by note, filling the room with the echo of bells from a cathedral a million miles away.

As the final note echoed into the room, he heard quiet applause. He jumped almost out of his skin and nearly fell out of his seat as he turned to look, seeing Kurt standing there, eyes very bright. “Wow.”

Blaine swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I- I didn’t know- um, didn’t know you were there.”

Kurt nodded. “I can see that.” 

Blaine wondered how ridiculous he’d looked, hair flopping as he’d moved up and down the keys. “I- um, I don’t have much- um, stamina. And I- I'm out of- of practice.”

Kurt walked up to him slowly, and the intensity of his expression was a little hard for Blaine to bear. He looked down, feeling oddly raw, like Kurt had caught him in an intimate moment.

Kurt took his hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. “You sounded perfect,” he said softly. “You are insanely talented, Blaine Anderson. And I’m lucky I walked in when I did.” He smiled gently as Blaine looked up to him. “Looks like I need to find us a piano for when you move to New York.”

Blaine perked up at that, a smile breaking out over his face. “Do you- um, think we could find- um, one? I could work with a-,” he blinked, blanking, “a-, um… the kind that isn’t a piano.”

“Keyboard?” Kurt offered. Blaine nodded, and Kurt squeezed his hand. “It’s a city full of musicians. I’m sure we can figure something out.” He leaned down and kissed Blaine’s lips this time, very gently. “I can’t wait to hear you play for me all the time.”

Blaine smiled as Kurt pulled back, the moment breaking a bit. He went on to detail his (extremely thorough) plans for the weekend, but Blaine couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. He let it wash over him, enjoying the lilt of Kurt’s voice more than listening to the words. He wouldn’t remember them, anyway. He let his mind wander to an apartment in the city, the view outside of a crowded street. A little keyboard in the corner. Kurt’s voice humming along with Blaine’s playing as he made dinner. A life. A home. The two of them, tucked away from the rest of the world.

It was only a matter of time.


	14. Opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I might be down to one chapter a week for a while. I've started a new aspect of my job, which is taking up a great deal of mental processing power. It's like being trained all over again, but it's a fantastic opportunity, so what can you do?
> 
> That said, thank you so much for being so patient with me, dealing with the irregular schedule, leaving comments and kudos and just reading this piece. I absolutely adore each and every one of you.

Kurt sighed as he heard someone come into his cubicle. “Jason, I swear, if this is you looking for another fashion lesson, I’m going to murder you. You know tonight is my Skype date with-“ 

He finished turning his chair around and froze. Not Jason. Isabelle. Isabelle Wright was standing in his cubicle. “Isabelle.” He could feel his cheeks turning pink. “Oh, wow. Hi.”

Isabelle smiled at him, clearly trying to hide her amusement. “So you’re the reason why Jason wore something that matched to work yesterday?”

Kurt groaned. “I promise I don’t make fun of his incompetence all the time, but he actually showed up to his job at Voge.com in brown shoes and a black belt. And he wasn’t even trying to be daring, he just didn’t know better.”

Isabelle laughed quietly. “His sense of fashion can be a bit… different,” she offered with an easy smile. Somehow, she didn’t seem to be making fun of him. Kurt felt himself relaxing. Isabelle was kind, decent, an amazing boss. Even if she had hired someone who had no idea how to color coordinate. “His writing’s amazing, even if he needs a little help with the subject material from time to time.”

He nodded, biting his lip. “So did you come to ask me about Jason’s fashion faux pas? Because I can go on and on about that for hours.” He glanced very quickly at the clock. He needed to leave right now if he was going to get home on time for his Skype date with Blaine. Then again, this was Isabelle. He didn’t exactly have one-on-one conversations with her every day.

“Actually, I’d like you to come to my office, Kurt. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Kurt’s stomach dropped through his toes. He’d taken too many days off. He’d been making too many personal phone calls on company time (all for good reason, Blaine was _walking_). He was going to be fired from Vogue. He stood on slightly wobbly knees and nodded. “Yeah, of course I can.” He glanced at the clock again. At least he’d have more free time to talk to Blaine.

Kurt was numb. His hands were shaking. He looked down at his phone as he stepped into the elevator. 9:30. He had four missed calls, a dozen texts. He turned off the screen and leaned back against the wall of the lift, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His phone started to buzz, Blaine’s smiling face beaming up at him. He pressed the button on the side to send the call to voicemail. He knew he’d missed their skype date, he just needed a little time.

The trip home was a blur. A woman carrying a designer purse and a tiny dog complimented his jacket and he couldn’t even act appropriately haughty. The stops on the subway passed in a blur, so much so that he went one stop too far. Oh well. He could walk it. It was hot outside, muggy, even after sunset. He loosened his tie, stumbling down the street until he reached the familiar apartment building.

He stepped into the front door as his phone started to ring again, this time Rachel’s face glaring at him. He denied the call. “I’m not dead,” he called, kicking off his shoes. He didn’t even bother to put them away, leaving them right where Rachel’s bag usually fell.

“Kurt, what the hell? Blaine called me. Blaine. Your speech-challenged boyfriend. He called me from his house, panicking that you’d forgotten or that he’d made a mistake. If you make that boy cry one more-“

She froze as she stepped into the room, eyes going wide at the sight of him. “Oh my God. What’s wrong? Are you dying? Are you having some sort of fit? Do you need to sing? Or maybe go to the hospital?”

He held up a hand and shook his head, blowing out a huff of breath. Rachel could be a lot. “I think I’m in shock.”

Rachel instantly grabbed his hand, dragging him to the couch and shoving him down. It was a belligerent type of affection, but he tolerated it. 

“Alright,” she said as she stood again, hands on her hips, “You would think he would have mentioned whatever it was on the phone, but I get that he’s not exactly all that good with the memory thing. Burt and I have discussed this. You stay here, I’ll go pack your things. I have pictures of your most regularly-worn outfits when you’re stressed. And, of course, I’ll add some selections of my own. Bright colors to cheer you up. Do you have a flight already?” At his dazed look, she shook her head “I’ll call your dad and see if he can get one set up. He’s got an emergency fund all set up.”

He blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. “Flight? Why would I need a flight? And why have you been talking with my dad?”

“I’ll be back for our impromptu, emotional duet in a moment, but the flight has to be figured out first, apparently. I argued with your dad about that one the most.” She rolled her eyes, clearly not listening to a word Kurt had said. “Why he wouldn’t want me to take care of your /emotional/ wellbeing before dealing with the practicalities is completely beyond me.”

Kurt shook his head. “Rachel. Stop. You’ve got a whole contingency plan with my dad for if something happens to Blaine?”

Rachel lifted an eyebrow impatiently, as though to point out that he was being deliberately obtuse. “Your penchant for drama is rivaled only by my own, Kurt, but that means we tend to make bad decisions in a crisis. So, you need help.”

Kurt stared at her for a solid minute, jaw hanging open. He shook himself to try to return to earth. “Okay, wow. First of all, don’t touch my clothes. That is just… a lot to think about. Secondly, Blaine’s fine. I think he’s fine. He seemed fine when I spoke to him at lunch. Do you think he’s not fine? Did he say something on the phone?”

Rachel shook her head. “No, he didn’t mention anything being off, other than you not answering his calls all night. If it’s not Blaine, then what’s going on?”

Kurt took a breath, tugging on Rachel’s hand so she’d sit on the couch. He was a little worried that if he let her, she’d be shoving his best clothes into bags without bothering to even fold them. “I’m not in any trouble, and as far as I know, Blaine is fine. I’m-… I’m actually really good. I’m just overwhelmed. Completely and utterly overwhelmed.” 

She looked at him with an eyebrow raised, disbelieving. “Really? Because right now, you look pale and a little like you might start having a fit.”

He shook his head and took a breath. “I don’t even know how to explain this. Isabelle came to my cube tonight. She was- She started going on about Jason, and this part really doesn’t matter, I just-“ He forced himself to breathe, sat up a little straighter. “I thought she was going to fire me or something for telling Jason how to act, or for talking to Blaine constantly, or for the spectacular number of days off I’ve taken. But she wasn’t firing me, Rachel. She- She’s offered- God, this must never happen to interns. Ever.”

Rachel grabbed his hand and shook it. “What is it? The suspense is killing me. Come on! Spill!”

“So, Vogue.com is sponsoring a fashion show benefit. It’s going to be- it’s huge. I’ve been aware of it for a while, sending out emails for Isabelle to start stirring up interest. Everyone who’s anyone in the fashion industry is going to be there.”

“And you get to go?” Rachel asked, eyes lighting up. 

Kurt huffed out a breath, starting to grin. “No.” He shook his head. “I mean, yeah, actually. Yes. I get to go. Which is insane. Isabelle’s going to let me borrow something from the vault. I’ll be wearing the latest designs, not having to pull something fashionable together from discount bins. But that- I hadn’t even thought about that, yet.”

“Then what’s going on?” 

Kurt looked at her, eyes wide. “I get to help put it together. I get to take notes with the planner who’s making all of the design decisions. He might even ask for my input. I get to help arrange seating, talk to the designers, or at least their assistants, acting as liaison for them to the magazine. Rachel, This isn’t just going as a spectator in the back row. This is being backstage, watching real fashion designers work. This is- I mean, it’s incredible. This is the chance of a lifetime.”

Rachel let out a noise that his eardrums would be protesting for at least a week. “Oh my God, Kurt, this is incredible! You’re going to knock their socks off with the best event ever. And you get to meet them! You’ll be making connections with people who will be able to dress me for awards season!”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Or who could help me with internships in fashion houses. Or who could get me a job. Or hell, even help me start my own line in the far-flung, distant future. These people- Rachel, they’re everything I want to be.”

“Do you get to bring a date? A very fashionable, dressed-from-the-vault date?” 

Kurt’s face fell a little, the memory of Blaine’s face popping up on his phone flashing through his mind. “Okay, Rachel, tone back the self-serving thing for a second.”

Rachel pouted at him. “As your best friend and roommate, I think it’s only fair it should be me, as your boyfriend isn’t going to be able to come up for the event.”

“Yeah, I know.” The most amazing opportunity he’d ever experienced, and Blaine wouldn’t be there with him.

“When is it?”

“Four months. October.” He sighed quietly. “He’s going to be so upset that he can’t go.”

“Who knows? Maybe he’ll be well enough.”

Kurt nodded, though he didn’t believe it. There was too much to do. He hadn’t even been cleared for air travel, yet. “Right. Maybe.”

Rachel just grinned and squeezed his hand, seemingly oblivious. “You should call him, tell him the good news. He’s going to be completely beside himself.”

Kurt nodded, though he bit his lip. “I’ll call him in the morning. He’ll be asleep by now. I don’t want to wake him up.” He turned so he could hug Rachel tight. “I’m sorry I worried you. This is just… completely and utterly overwhelming.” He put on a smile that was at least mostly genuine as he pulled back. “Wish me luck. Tomorrow I meet the planner. I’m going to need it.”

Rachel didn’t comment on his skipping the phone call with Blaine. All she did was give him a hug and let him wander into his bedroom. He stared at his phone as he started his facial routine, chewing on his bottom lip. It was a habit he was going to have to break. Chapped lips weren’t cute on anyone. He thought of Blaine, sitting at home in his room. Blaine, who was so very sweet. Blaine, who needed him home for extended weekends once a month. Who wanted to talk to him multiple times a week. He thought of Isabelle and her amazing offer that came with the caveat of a lot more work. Time-sensitive work. Increased responsibility. He saw his phone light up with a text message. He opened his phone, looking at Blaine’s name. He’d missed 15 texts from him. Tomorrow. He’d deal with that tomorrow.

He scrolled down a little further to Charlie. 

_You’ll never guess what happened today._


	15. Block

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, apparently I'm going to be down to one chapter a week for a while. Life is a little crazy, and there's a lot going on. All of it good! But it does take up a lot of my time. Please bear with me, I promise that this story is still composing itself in my brain, I'm just a little off-schedule.
> 
> As always, thank you so much to everyone who left a comment or a kudos or just stopped by to spend some time with me. I appreciate you all far more than you could possibly know. If it weren't for you, this probably would've been abandoned ages ago. So thank you for giving me a reason to keep creating!

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Dude!”

Blaine looked up at Sam, gripping his glass of water in both hands. “What- what is it?”

Sam was staring at him, eyes wide enough to almost bug out of his head, jaw hanging open. “Dude! You stood up!”

Blaine blinked. His parents had been trying to make the house wheelchair-friendly for him. Well, his mom, mostly. The countertops in the kitchen were low enough that he could reach them, all of the rooms were wide and accessible. The house was perfect for a wheelchair user. But the people in it tended to forget and put things on high shelves. Including the water glasses. Today, instead of asking Sam to get it for him, he’d locked the brakes on his chair, pushed himself to his feet, leaned heavily on the counter, and pulled down a glass. It had seemed the easiest way to get what he wanted. He grinned as he realized what he’d done, without even thinking about it. 

“Um, yeah, I guess I- I did.”

Sam practically launched at him, hugging him awkwardly in his wheelchair. “Blaine, you stood! On your own!”

Blaine laughed. “I wouldn’t go that- um, far. I used the- um, table thing.” He pointed to the countertop, figuring Sam would get his point.

Sam shook his head, pulling back. “That’s freaking awesome. I’ve never seen you get out of your chair before.” He brightened as he crouched beside Blaine’s chair, his favorite position when they were talking and Sam wasn’t sitting down. It had to be uncomfortable, but Blaine was too glad to finally have someone at eye level to comment. “Can I go to PT with you today? I know it’s totally, like, a solo thing. But I can be there and be your cheerleader. It’ll be awesome!”

Blaine hesitated. Not even Kurt had been with him to PT. Though Kurt hadn’t asked in a really long time. He glanced at his phone on the table, quiet and still. Kurt had finally texted after the missed Skype conversation, but all he’d been able to say was that he was really busy and they’d catch up later. That had been days ago. Since then, Blaine had received a daily text, but they hadn’t had a proper conversation. He chewed on his lip for a moment and then nodded. “Sure. Why- um, why not?”

Sam grinned, clapping him on the leg. “Awesome! Wait, did I hurt you? Or can you feel that?”

Blaine laughed. He never quite knew if Sam was joking or not. It was one of the things that made him so interesting to be around. “I feel everything, um,” his name was gone. He blinked, staring at him, eyes going wide. His name was just gone. He’d known it a second ago, and now it had vanished. He fought not to panic, knowing that he couldn’t let on.

“Sam,” Sam provided with a grin. “Need me to write you another sticky note?” He stuck his hand in the pocket of Blaine’s bag and rummaged around for a fresh sticky, writing his name in bold, black Sharpie with the air of someone who had done this before. “There.” He stuck it to the inside wall of Blaine’s wheelchair with a grin. “Me, Sam. You, Blaine.”

Blaine snorted, unable to help himself, slip or no slip. This explained the stickies he kept finding all around the house with Sam’s name written on them. He must be doing this pretty often. And yet, here Sam was, writing it down for him again without a hint of judgment. “Your Tarzan is- um-“

“Terrible!” Sam said with him, shrugging his shoulders. “You need a better comeback, my dude. Besides, you love my impressions, young padawan.”

Blaine shook his head, rolling his eyes fondly as he wheeled toward the table. “Oh, please. I’m clearly the-um, master here.”

Sam grinned, ruffling Blaine’s hair as he walked past. “Hey, I’m not the one still in training.”

“Come on, Blaine, you can do it.”

“I’m- um- I’m trying!”

“I know you are, but you can push a little harder, bud.”

Blaine grunted and pushed with both legs, pressing the weighted plate an inch more, then another. Finally, his knees straightened, straining against the weight trying to collapse them back toward his chest. He let out a sound of triumph, the plate wobbling with the sound.

“Good job!” Alex said with a grin. 

Blaine looked up as he heard a whoop from his other side. “Yeah! That’s, like, ten more pounds than you told me you could handle!” Sam cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, the sound echoing through the gym. Blaine was glad they were the only ones there, this morning.

He looked back and forth between them, shaking slightly as he held the weight up. His voice sounded strained when he spoke. “I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t,” Alex said with a smug grin. “Let it back down slowly, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Blaine let the weight down, grunting with the effort. He was absolutely covered in sweat, exhausted, but he was proud of himself. He’d upped his weight in every single lift he’d tried today.

“Aw, I’m not gonna get to see you walk?”

Blaine looked up at Sam, surprised. He turned back to Alex, eyebrow raised.

Alex shook his head with an indulgent smile. “Hey, it’s your legs. If you want to try, I’ll let Sam follow you in the wheelchair while I hold the walker. I don’t know how far you’ll make it, we sort of just murdered your legs.”

Blaine hummed. “May as well- um, try,” he said with a grin. He felt on top of the world, even if his knees were already shaking.

“You should call Kurt!” Sam said with a grin.

Blaine shook his head, deflating slightly. “I don’t- don’t know.”

“But he’ll totally want to see this. We can Skype. He can watch you walk. You’ll have an entire cheering section! Kurt was a cheerleader for a little while in high school, he’s totally good at it.”

Blaine blinked, hoping against hope that his brain held onto that little tidbit. Kurt as a cheerleader was not something he would have expected. He chewed on his lip, debating. Kurt hadn’t been talking to him much. But at the same time, he always liked updates about physical therapy. Eventually, he nodded, looking up at Alex. “Help me into the, uh-,” he wrinkled his nose, not even bothering to try as he waved at his wheelchair. 

Alex helped Blaine up from the leg press carefully, depositing him in his chair. “Wheelchair, bud. And I know you didn’t even try. Watch it, or I’ll snitch to your speech therapist.”

Blaine rolled his eyes, knowing Alex would do no such thing. He stuck out his tongue dramatically as he dug in his wheelchair’s pocket for his phone. While Alex took Sam to help him find the walker (a ploy for which Blaine was extremely grateful), Blaine dialed Kurt’s number. He was on the edge of being sent to voicemail when he finally heard a familiar voice. 

“Kurt Hummel speaking.”

“Kurt.” He couldn’t help but smile at the sound of that familiar voice, despite everything.

“Blaine!” Kurt sounded just as excited to speak to him. Blaine found himself relaxing into his chair. 

“Yeah, it’s- um, it’s me.”

Kurt laughed. “Of course it is. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even check my caller ID. I’m getting a million calls lately, and I knew I was about to miss this one.”

Blaine hummed, then sat up a little straighter in his chair, gathering up his words and putting them in order. “I- um, I wanted to-“

“I have so freaking much to tell you.” Blaine blinked, wondering if Kurt hadn’t heard him. It wasn’t like him to interrupt. “I’m so sorry, I’ve been slammed at work, and then they tried to up my hours at the coffee shop. Rachel’s throwing fits because she’s convinced our roommate put rat poison in her tea. Don’t ask, they’re having a feud about three AM rehearsals again. I’m about 80 percent sure he didn’t poison her. And it’s only that low because I thought about it myself when she woke me up before the sun this morning.”

Blaine laughed, content to listen to Kurt ramble for a moment. He sounded so happy. Free. Light. He sounded better than he had in a long time, if Blaine were willing to be honest.

“But I have some really incredible news for you.” 

Blaine sat up, the reason for his call nearly forgotten. “What- um, what is it?”

“I’ve got a new assignment at Vogue! I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you. I mean, it’s going to mean a lot more hours. And a ton of running around. Which is what I’m doing right now. Would you believe that they’ve got the subway shut down for construction or something? Why would they even need construction on the subway? Anyway, I’m getting to help with a show. A real fashion show. It’s the sort of assignment they almost never give to interns. It’s honestly the most incredible opportunity.”

Blaine’s stomach sank as he listened to Kurt talk over the background traffic noise of New York City. Longer hours, more responsibility. Which might be why Kurt hadn’t been in touch for so long. He held the phone to his ear tightly. “A show? That’s really- that’s- um-“

“I know! It’s incredible! So I’m currently running around like a crazy person because Isabelle scheduled a meeting with this designer who apparently only likes this one very specific brand of coffee that I had to get across town to grab. He probably wouldn’t be able to taste the difference, but he’d see the Starbucks logo on the cup. Anyway, it’s amazing. I’ve met the planner, and we’re starting to pull everything together. I’m talking to designers and their secretaries. Blaine, I’m going to meet all of the most creative minds in the fashion industry.”

Blaine was excited for Kurt. Of course he was. But this was all happening very fast. He wanted a minute to talk about it, to absorb what it meant for the two of them. And now wasn’t the time, clearly. Kurt was running around New York, Blaine was in the middle of physical therapy. He looked up to see Alex and Sam walking back toward him slowly, walker in tow. Right. He was supposed to be showing Kurt how he walked. “Kurt, I wanted to-, um- to-“

“To what?”

Blaine couldn’t get the words out. He huffed out a breath as he closed his eyes and tried to focus. He’d had it in his head before the phone call, but Kurt’s monologue had left him a little scrambled. “To- um- to- to-“ Look? No, that wasn’t right. See wasn’t it, either. It wasn’t something he looked at, he wanted Kurt to watch. He let out a frustrated sound, trying to get back to the script he’d built in his head while the phone was ringing.

The silence stretched between them. Kurt must have stepped inside, the street noise had died down. 

“To- um, to-I have- um, something to- um, to- to-“

He hadn’t slipped like this in a long time. He felt his cheeks heat up as he tried to get past the mental block in his head.

“Hey, B?” Kurt’s voice was gentle. “I know you’re frustrated right now, but it’s okay. We can try again later, right? It’s not bad timing, anyway. I’m sort of here at the coffee shop and this is really time critical, the guy’s supposed to be there in a half an hour. Do you think you can tell me later?”

Blaine swallowed hard around a lump in his throat. His was time critical, too. He was going to walk, he wanted to show Kurt. He might even be able to make it all the way across the room. “I- um, I was going to- I need-“

He heard Kurt curse and the sound of shuffling. He must have been jostled or dropped his phone. “I can’t wait to hear all about it, just as soon as we can talk again. And I’ll bring you all of the designer gossip, okay?”

“I-“

“I’ll talk to you tonight, promise.”

“Show. I wanted to- um, show you.” 

But Kurt was gone. Blaine was on his own.


	16. June

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for the comments and the kudos and for reading along with me. I adore you all beyond what I can possibly say, and I'm eternally grateful for you all.
> 
> I know that some of you are getting a little frustrated with Kurt. I completely understand. But I hope you can cut him a little bit of slack. He's very young and, sometimes, very dumb.

“Coffee break?”

Kurt startled, the mop handle he’d been leaning on falling to the ground with a crack that echoed through the empty coffee shop. He jumped, shaking his head as he realized that he’d been basically asleep while standing up. Charlie was standing in front of him, holding out a steaming hot cup of coffee. He took it with a groan, looking around to see if anyone else had caught him. There was no one there. It was just the two of them closing for the night. “Thanks.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow and gestured to a chair. “Sit. I’ll take care of the mopping. You look like you’re pretty much dead on your feet.”

Kurt sighed and did as he was told, flopping down into a chair and resting his head on his hands. “I… It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

That was the understatement of the century. He loved his new job assignment. He had to love his new job assignment. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, the sort of thing that interns daydreamed of while they filed papers and fetched coffee. And it truly was amazing. The planner he was working with was brilliant. He’d had the opportunity to help choose color palettes and look through fabric swatches for curtains. When he was working on the show, he was almost always excited about it. He knew how amazing this chance was. But the show wasn’t all he was working on. 

Isabelle hadn’t been very clear that he’d still be expected to keep up with his copyediting for Vogue.com while on his special assignment. Jason was still asking him questions all day every day, needing Kurt’s help with absolutely anything to do with fashion. The planner was the sort of man who was on all the time, and he expected Kurt to arrive no later than 7 AM and work until they were finished. Most days, it was 4 or 5. Occasionally 6 or 7. On one very memorable night, midnight. He’d had to take on closing shifts at the coffee shop to keep that income at all, which meant that when he did get off at 4 or 5, he was slinging coffee until midnight. By the time he made it home, it was 1:30 in the morning. 

Making time for Blaine was becoming more and more difficult. He tried to skype him at lunch at least once a week, call him when he could. But he was always asleep when Kurt was home, and they were having a harder and harder time talking. He didn’t want Blaine to worry. He didn’t want him to know that Kurt was being spread a little too thin, so he’d been… well, he wouldn’t quite call it lying. Every phone call, he talked about how much he loved his new job. Every skype session, he reminded them both what an amazing opportunity it was. He always apologized when he had to send Blaine to voicemail, when he couldn’t pick up the phone. He had to keep everything optimistic, upbeat. Blaine was making serious progress with his therapies, Kurt was building his career. Everything was perfect. As long as he kept viewing it that way, he could ignore the fact that he was sleeping less than five hours a night, that he missed his boyfriend so much he could hardly stand it, that he felt like he was starting to come a little undone. 

“Earth to Kurt.”

He snapped his head back up, looking at Charlie guiltily. “I’m sorry. I- I think you might be right. I’m a little bit of a mess. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

“Bullshit,” Charlie said, though there was no venom in his voice as he kept mopping the last section of the shop, doing Kurt’s job for him. “I mean, maybe. But if you’re coming down with something, it’s because you’re working yourself to death. You’re running yourself completely ragged.”

Kurt shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said firmly. “Totally and completely fine.”

“Bullshit again,” Charlie said with a grin. “Shelly’s started talking about bringing you healing oils from that shop she works at. She’s going to start anointing you every time you come in.”

Kurt snorted, though he was a bit touched. Shelly was one of his coworkers at the shop that he didn’t know as well. The fact that she was thinking of him at all (even in her new-agey way) was very sweet. He ran a hand over his face. “I’m just a little busy, these days.”

Charlie nodded. “Insanely busy. Have you taken a single day off in the past month?”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s only been bad for a couple of weeks. And I’m taking off Saturday and Sunday completely. Going back to Ohio to see Blaine. I’m not even working tomorrow night so I can pack.”

Charlie’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re still with the boyfriend who’s too lazy to come up to New York for a visit? Seriously? How much time are you going to lose traveling when he could come up tomorrow afternoon and make it easy on both of you?”

Kurt sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve told you a million times that he’s not lazy. There are circumstances that you don’t understand. He can’t just get on a plane and come to New York.”

“Well, he should. You’re getting on a plane and going to Ohio. And knowing you, you’re going to be a ball of nervous energy all day tomorrow worrying that you haven’t packed the right things or that you’re going to get there late or whatever.”

Kurt shrugged. Charlie wasn’t necessarily wrong. But he’d be with Blaine, and then everything would feel better. Blaine always calmed him down, helped him re-center. That’s what he needed. A couple of days with his boyfriend to pull himself together.

“Come out with me.”

Kurt looked up, confused. “What? What do you mean?”

“Tomorrow night. You don’t leave until Saturday, right?”

Kurt nodded. He’d managed to get the night shift off tomorrow. He’d thought about taking the red-eye in, but Blaine had asked him to wait until morning. Kurt had no idea why, but he was fine with an early morning flight. It would mean being awake at 5:30 AM on one of his days off, but he could handle that. “I mean, technically. But it’s really early on Saturday.”

Charlie shrugged. “I’ve got a group of friends getting together tomorrow night. We’ll hit the first bar around 9. Go out dancing after that. You can leave any time you want. I’ll even pay for your cab.”

Kurt chewed on his lip and then shook his head. “I mean, I still have to pack. And I have to be at the airport by 6:30.”

Charlie walked over, sitting in the chair across from Kurt. “Look, I know that you’re working really hard. But you’re in one of the most fabulous cities in the world, and you’ve never even been to a gay bar. Come hang out with me and some of my friends in the community. Make some connections. Relax. I promise that you can leave as soon as you’re ready, no pressure at all.” He smiled gently at Kurt. “You deserve a little time for yourself, too, you know. And after the past few weeks, you need a chance to relax.” 

Kurt chewed on his lip. It sounded like a dream. He’d never been in a gay bar. He’d never seen so many people in the community in one place. The thought was exhilarating. And then he’d have something to tell Blaine that wasn’t about Vogue. Something for him to look forward to when he came to the city. Besides, he wasn’t much of a drinker. A few hours with some new people would do him good. “You really think your friends will be okay with me leaving early and not drinking?” 

Charlie grinned. “Yeah, of course they will. They just want to meet this guy I’ve been talking their ear off about for ages. I’ll send you the address. Meet us at nine, you’ll be home before you know it.”

Kurt was nervous. This would be his first time out at a bar since he’d moved to the city. He’d spent an hour changing outfits until he’d settled on something he liked. Thigh-high boots, the tightest pair of pants he owned and a short-cropped leather jacket over a white shirt and grey vest. It was a little much for his day-to-day, but he’d worn more daring things at McKinley. He just didn’t want to be outshone at his very first gay bar outing. He checked himself one last time in the mirror and stepped out of the apartment. His phone was fully charged, he had an alarm set for midnight so he’d leave on time. He was going to go, have a good time, and come home. It would be perfect. 

He arrived at the first bar and took a deep breath. It was a basement dive, a place he walked right past the first time. He had to double back to find it. He handed the bouncer his card, watched as he marked giant X’s across the back of each hand, and stepped inside. The crowd wasn’t what he was expecting. Everyone looked… normal. Jeans and t-shirts, some girls in dresses and heels, some guys in business clothes, clearly coming straight from work. Charlie caught his eye from a table near the bar, and Kurt waved, walking over. He felt a little self-conscious, but he tried not to let it show. There were already people staring. 

“Well, you won’t have to worry about buying your own drinks, tonight,” Charlie said with a grin. 

Kurt winced slightly, though he tried to keep his posture relaxed. “Uh, I think I might be a little overdressed.”

Charlie shook his head. “Not at all. We’re only starting here because the beer is cheap and the wells liquor is pretty good. Don’t worry about it, Kurt, you’ll fit right in at the club.”

He turned to the table and started introducing Kurt to his friends. They were amazing. There was a lovely trans woman there named Laurie who managed to make Kurt laugh so hard that water came out of his nose. There was an adorable couple of women who kept holding hands and whispering in each other’s ear. They even had the ‘token straight friend’, a loud, boisterous guy named Matt who kept hugging everyone and making wildly inappropriate jokes about gay sex. It was the first time in his life that Kurt had felt truly comfortable in a brand new group of people. They asked him about his boyfriend, his fashion sense, his job. He wasn’t a stereotype one dress away from being a girl in their eyes, he was a guy with passion and talent and a good head on his shoulders. The conversation was easy, comfortable. He found himself laughing more than he had in ages. Since he’d met Blaine. They were all a little older and every time they ordered a drink, they’d let him try it, keeping a dramatic eye out for the bouncer. 

By the time they left the first bar after an hour of talking and laughing, Kurt was feeling a little warm, lightheaded. When Charlie said they were moving on to a club in Hell’s Kitchen, Kurt didn’t even think about not going with them. He had finally found a place he fit. He wasn’t giving that up, yet. Besides, it was only ten. He had hours to go before he had to be home. 

The club was more along the lines of what he’d imagined. It was somehow dark and far too bright at the same time, strobes leaving afterimages behind his eyes. It was impossible to talk, so they didn’t. The group of them made their way to the mass of bodies on the dance floor and started to move. All Kurt’s life, he’d been made fun of for his shimmy or his finger waggle, but here it didn’t matter. He let his body move to the rhythm and his new friends moved with him, pressed together. At some point, someone bought a round of shots, and one was pressed into his hand. One shot wouldn’t kill him. It burned on the way down, but he didn’t mind. He cheered with everybody else at the change of the song and started jumping with the beat.

One shot became two, became three. The music never died down, the group never stopped laughing. He never paid for a drink, but someone seemed to be constantly offering him one. He took some, denied others, but as the night went on, he denied fewer of them.

When his phone started loudly beeping from his pocket, he was pressed against Charlie, rocking steadily to a Madonna song he hadn’t heard in ages. He pulled it out of his pocket and groaned.

“What is it?” Charlie had to lean in close to be heard.

Kurt huffed out a breath, head spinning a little, high on laughter and fun and the feeling of being with people who not only didn’t mind being close to him, but wanted to dance with him all night. He moved close to Charlie’s ear, shouting to be heard over the pounding bass. “I need to go, it’s midnight.”

He pulled back enough to see Charlie’s pout. He hadn’t turned down a single drink all night, and had bought a few rounds. His cheeks were red, his eyes bright, his expression goofy enough to make Kurt start laughing. “I’ve gotta catch my flight tomorrow.”

Charlie’s pout only grew more dramatic. “One more song?”

Laurie pressed a shot of tequila into Kurt’s hand, shouting something he couldn’t hear over the music and shooting him a wink. He looked at them, this group of misfits from all around the country who had taken him in and made him feel like he belonged. “One more song.”

Kurt didn’t know how much longer he stayed. One song turned into two turned into ten. Matt was the first to leave, wrapping Kurt up in a bear hug that almost cracked his ribs. The couple was next, each kissing his cheek and pressing a paper with both of their numbers into his hand with the promise to meet up soon for coffee. But Charlie wasn’t ready to go, yet. They were still dancing, Charlie’s arm around Kurt’s waist, bodies pressed close together. The song changed, something slightly more mellow. Looking around the dance floor, it seemed like the crowd was starting to thin out. He blinked up at Charlie, feeling a little wobbly. He laid his head on his shoulder, trying to get close enough to talk to him and be heard. He was steadier leaning on his friend, anyway. “I should go.”

Charlie rubbed his back gently, tipping his head so he could see Kurt’s face. “Really?”

Kurt nodded, pulling away enough to wrap his arms around Charlie’s neck, steadying himself. “Uh huh. Gotta be up early.”

Charlie kept looking at him, glancing down to his lips. Kurt swayed to the music, smiling up at him. “It was really fun, though.” He took a breath to say something else, but he was cut off by the gentle press of Charlie’s lips against his own. He was surprised enough that he didn’t push him away, not at first. He’d only ever kissed one boy, before. This was different. Then Charlie’s lips moved against his own, and Kurt moved his hands to his chest to push him gently away. He shook his head, fighting the urge to reach up and wipe his lips. “Boyfriend.”

Charlie blinked at him, and for the first time, Kurt realized how drunk they both were. Charlie was swaying on his feet and Kurt wasn’t feeling too steady, himself. Charlie nodded, though he looked at Kurt’s lips again. Kurt took a half a step back, forcing Charlie’s arm to slip off his waist. “I’ve gotta-… I’m late. Gotta get to- to Blaine in the morning.” He turned and started to move through the crowd. They felt a little too close, now that he wasn’t dancing. He’d been able to move through them easily while swaying along to the bassline. Now, people kept stepping on his toes. A drink was spilled on his boots.

He stepped outside and breathed in the cool night air, trying to clear his head. He felt more than heard Charlie come up behind him, his hackles immediately rising. Nothing good ever came from being followed into a dark alley in the middle of the night. He turned around slowly, eyeing Charlie warily. 

Charlie was staring down at his phone. “There.” He held it up triumphantly, grinning at Kurt. “Gotcha a… um, a taxi.”

Kurt blinked. He hadn’t even thought about getting home. “Oh. Um, want to share?” He felt like it was only polite to offer. 

Charlie shook his head. “I’m gonna walk a little.” He leaned in and Kurt prepared himself to move away, but Charlie only kissed his cheek. “See ya later.”

Kurt watched him walk away, nearly tripping over his own feet as he headed down the street. His lips felt odd. Numb and too sensitive at the same time. Kurt’s stomach twisted, and he thought for a moment he might be sick. He climbed into the cab when it arrived, giving the cabbie his address and rolling down the window to feel fresh air on his face. He glanced at the clock and whimpered. 3:37. His flight was in a few hours. He’d managed to pack, but he still needed to finish up with his toiletries. He’d only be able to sleep an hour, maybe two.

He dozed in the cab, waking with a start when it braked outside of the apartment. He managed to get inside after fumbling with his key for a solid five minutes. He tripped over Rachel’s rehearsal bag, cursed under his breath, and kicked it out of the way. He only managed to remove his boots and his belt before he fell face-first into the sheets. One hour. He’d be awake in one hour. Then he’d see Blaine, explain everything. It would be fine. Everything was going to be fine. 

His head was pounding. His lips were chapped. His mouth tasted and felt like he’d been sucking on dirty cotton balls all night. He could actually feel the layer of grime on his face from skipping his nightly skincare routine. Kurt groaned as he rolled over. The sunlight pouring into the tiny window was blinding. He pulled the pillow over his head. He must’ve slept in, the sun only really hit their window a little before noon. He blinked his eyes open, squinting as he slapped the bed, looking for his phone. He could hear Rachel talking in the living room, and all he wanted to do was tell her to shut up.

“Blaine, I-“

He didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. He didn’t have to. Sunlight. Just before noon. Blaine’s name. He shot bolt upright in bed, then moaned as a spike of pain shot through his head. He scrambled for his phone, digging it out of his pocket. Why had he worn his tightest skinny jeans? And why on earth was he still wearing them? 11:07. Three missed calls from Blaine. He hadn’t just missed his flight, he’d slept past the time he should have landed. He scrambled out of the bed, then immediately reached for his trash can as he started to gag. How late had he been out last night? He wiped off his mouth and stood on shaky feet, stumbling toward the door.

“No, I promise, he’s not hurt or dead.” Rachel’s voice was soothing, calm. Kurt was a little shocked by the tone. And then she caught sight of him. Her eyes narrowed, flashing dangerously, and he winced. Still, her tone remained the same. “I know, I’m so sorry. He’s really, really sick. Like, puking, headachy, falling asleep on his feet sick.” A long pause. “I know. He should’ve called, I don’t know why he didn’t. He’s safe, though. I promise that he’s safe, Blaine. I’ll have him call you as soon as he can, okay?”

Kurt was a coward. He didn’t ask for the phone. He listened to her say her goodbyes and just stood there, shaking. He’d missed his trip home. He’d missed Blaine. His breathing was too shallow. He felt like he was going to cry. “What-“ His voice sounded terrible. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Why’d you tell him that?”

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest, planting her feet. In that moment, she looked about eight feet tall. “Because the alternative was to tell him that his boyfriend had gotten so plastered last night that he didn’t wake up for his flight, and I didn’t think he’d take that too well.”

Kurt flinched. There was nothing he could say to that. Wasn’t it exactly what had happened? He felt sick. He took a few breaths in through his nose, trying to calm his stomach. “I… What happened?”

“Well, apparently he convinced his mom to take him to the airport to surprise you when you landed. He waited for you for more than an hour until his mom called the airline. They told her that the flight had landed ages ago. He started calling you, but you weren’t answering, so he called me.”

Kurt could feel the color draining from his face. Blaine had tried to surprise him at the airport. He’d been waiting there all morning. Kurt had been sleeping while Blaine had been pulling himself together for a visit that was already going to be short. He closed his eyes, trying to think of when he went wrong.

New friends. Sips of drinks in a dive bar. Loud music. Dancing. Shots of tequila. A kiss.

Kurt’s stomach clenched and he ran to the bathroom, making it to his knees in front of the toilet before he started gagging again. A kiss. He’d drank too much, kissed Charlie, and missed his flight home to Blaine. He heard the door open behind him and he sniffed, tears slipping from his eyes to land on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat.

“I messed up, Rachel. I messed up so bad.”


	17. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the (very frustrated, I'm so sorry) comments! I love hearing everyone's reactions, even if Kurt's actions haven't been quite so stellar. I'd love to tell you that the worst is over, but... well, you've read the other installments.
> 
> Thank you for everyone still reading and interacting. You continuously inspire me to keep going, and I appreciate every view and comment and kudos more than I can possibly describe.

Blaine’s head was pounding. It was the first thing he was aware of as he woke. He could hear a faint beeping sound. There was a scratchy blanket tucked around his chest. He sighed very quietly as he realized where he was. Hospital. He had to be in the hospital. He cracked one eye open and instantly regretted it, wincing away from the light stabbing a dagger through his eye. Someone squeezed his hand. He heard movement and a voice, though he couldn’t focus enough to process who it was. More movement. Light that hurt even through his eyelids. And then he drifted back to sleep as the pain faded.

Waking the second time was far less stressful. He recognized the scratchy blanket almost immediately. His pounding migraine had been downgraded to an unpleasant headache, nothing unusual for him. He cracked one eye open and then the other, relieved to find that the room was still dim, at least. He tried to turn his head to see who was sitting beside him and he felt a bit like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz, desperate for an oil can. Something had happened. His entire body was sore, tense. His nose wrinkled as he forced he tried to make out the blurry shape beside him. 

“Hi, Blaine.”

His mom sounded completely exhausted.

“Hi,” he answered softly. 

He managed to get his eyes to focus fully, and he almost wished he’d gone back to sleep without looking. His mom looked worse than she sounded. Mascara had run down her face, though she’d clearly tried to clean it up. There were still racoon rings around her eyes. Her hair was slapped up in a style of bun he’d only ever seen in old pictures, a lopsided mass on the top of her head. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t been good.

“What- What happened?”

Pam sighed and reached up to rub at the bridge of her nose. “You lied to me.” 

Blaine frowned, starting to shake his head and freezing when one of his neck muscles started to cramp. Right. Moving was a bad idea.

“Before we left to pick Kurt up from the airport, I asked if you’d taken all of your meds. You said yes. We went to the airport. You weren’t feeling great, but you’re not used to sitting in the car for so long. I thought- I hoped that maybe that was all that was happening. A little carsickness. He didn’t show up,” Blaine’s breath caught as he remembered sitting in the van, stomach sinking more and more as the hour passed and Kurt still hadn’t walked out of the airport. Everything was fuzzy, far away, but he remembered that feeling of dread. “So I was eventually able to talk you into leaving. By the time we were on our way home, I knew something was wrong, but I- I didn’t know what to do. Should have pulled over and called an ambulance.” She ran a hand over her face, smearing the mascara around her eyes. “Apparently, you missed all your seizure meds. We were nearly home when you-,” her voice cracked and she stopped for a moment. “We were right by the hospital. Lucky, really.”

Blaine didn’t feel very lucky. And his mom clearly didn’t, either. He squeezed the hand still holding his own. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. It felt like it wasn’t enough. “I’m sure I- I meant to- to take them.”

Pam nodded, expression tight, lips pursed. “You always mean well, Blaine. You always have. But you missed your meds, and you’ve had a seizure, and the doctors are going to keep you here for at least a few more hours. It was- Well, we both know they’ve been messing with your epilepsy meds for a while. There’s a good reason for that.”

Grand mal seizure. That was the reason why his muscles felt like he’d decided to run a marathon as he slept. His eyes weren’t focusing, it explained the migraine. And it explained why his mother was so upset. He’d seen videos, morbidly curious about what happened. He could never remember a seizure. 

Blaine couldn’t quite nod, so he hummed to show that he understood. His stomach twisted as his mom stood and pulled her hand out of his, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to go grab us both something to eat. I’ll be back, Blaine.”

Blaine hummed again, feeling terrible. How had he forgotten his meds? He’d been excited about Kurt’s visit, but he always marked his meds on a sticky note on his wall. Maybe he’d misread it. But why hadn’t Kurt been there? He vaguely remembered talking to Rachel, but he couldn’t remember what they’d discussed. 

He spotted his phone on the nightstand as his mother left the room and reached for it. He grunted with the effort, just managing to grab the stupid thing in the tips of his fingers. No missed calls. There was an outgoing call to Rachel that morning- almost four hours ago, now. He sighed quietly and moved to set the phone down. Just as he did, it started ringing in his hand. He looked at Kurt’s happy face smiling up at him from the screen for a long moment before accepting the call, putting the phone on speaker and laying it on his chest.

“Kurt?”

“Blaine.” Kurt sounded weird. Like he’d been crying. Pam must have called him. She’d promised that she would, if he ever landed in the hospital.

“It’s not a- um,” his head was always scrambled after something like this, “I’m not- I’m fine.”

He could practically hear the frown in Kurt’s voice. “What do you mean, you’re fine? Are you okay? Rachel said you were okay when she talked to you this morning.”

Sick. Kurt had been sick. He remembered Rachel’s soothing voice in his ear. Headache, throwing up, so sick he couldn’t make it. Maybe that was why he sounded weird, since he clearly didn’t know Blaine was in the hospital. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Just a- a- a-,” headache, pounding pain behind his eyes, “migraine.”

Kurt made a sympathetic sound, but something was off about that, too. And he didn’t sound sick, he sounded sad. 

“What’s going on?”

Kurt was quiet for long enough that Blaine started to worry he’d either accidentally hung up or had managed to have an absence seizure and forgotten the entire conversation. That would be fun to explain. 

“I need to tell you something.” Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Blaine could feel it. For a moment, he seriously considered ending the call without knowing. Something in his gut told him it might be better that way. 

“What?”

“I’d really rather do this face to face. Especially with- I mean, you might want to write. Can I skype you?”

Blaine could see his journal on the table beside him. He shifted very slowly, propping himself up in the bed (he was now an expert with motorized beds). He grabbed for the notebook, though he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to write much. “Can’t skype right now. My, um, my-,” he closed his eyes and huffed out a breath, “Not my dad, my- um, mom. She’ll be back soon.”

Kurt took a deep breath. “Okay.” 

Blaine could hear the disappointment in his voice, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was doing well just to lay still and talk with the phone on speaker. Propping it up to see Kurt’s face would take a lot of work, in his current state. 

“Okay. So, Rachel lied for me this morning. I mean, she didn’t mean to. I really was sick. Throwing up, massive headache, you have no idea how miserable I was.” Given the circumstances, Blaine didn’t have the energy to point out the irony. “But it wasn’t because- It was because I was hungover. I made a terrible decision last night and went out with a group of friends. I got really drunk’ I didn’t set an alarm. This is entirely, one hundred percent my fault.”

Blaine’s jaw set. He took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Okay.” He was trying not to be angry. Mistakes happened. Kurt had screwed up. Everybody screwed up, sometimes. Most of the time, it didn’t end up with their significant other waiting at an airport for hours before having a seizure on the way home, but that was extremely specific to their situation.

“That’s- that’s not all.”

Blaine swallowed hard. “Okay. What else?”

“I- I want you to know that this was never what I meant to happen. I wanted to go out, meet some new friends, hang out. I never meant to drink at all, but people kept offering me sips of theirs, and I know I got carried away. I’m just- I’m so, so sorry, Blaine.”

Blaine’s stomach dropped as Kurt’s voice cracked. He was crying. “What- What- um, happened?”

Kurt didn’t speak, but this time, Blaine had no doubt that the connection was still live. He could hear his shaky breathing. 

“I- I kissed someone.”

Blaine had been picturing a car accident, somehow, or getting into a fistfight. In the darkest part of his mind, he’d even feared that Kurt had been hurt the way he’d been hurt. But he’d never in a million years imagined Kurt cheating. He felt something crack in his chest, a physical pain that he would love to blame on the seizure. “You what?”

“I kissed someone. It didn’t mean anything. I swear it didn’t. We were dancing, and he kissed me. It was nothing, Blaine, I promise you.”

Blaine was shaking. Kurt had kissed someone. The night before he’d been coming home to see Blaine, he’d been drunkenly making out with some guy. “Who?” 

Kurt sighed. “Charlie.”

Blaine’s brow furrowed. That name meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. “Who- Who’s Charlie?”

“Charlie. The guy from the coffee shop? Taught me how to make a latte? I’m sure I’ve mentioned him. You’ve probably just forgotten. He’s been a good friend to me since I-“

“You’ve never-,” Blaine interrupted, not letting Kurt blow past this. He took a shaky breath, trying to keep from groaning in frustration as he focused on the words, “never-” He cut himself off as he grabbed his journal from the table, flipping through the pages to one dog-eared near the back. “Sally. Works at psychic shop. Sweet. Shy. Compliments your shoes a lot. Owner Eddie. Buff, brash, laugh is obnoxious, likes your moxie. Mabel. Sweet old lady. Comes in every day for tea. Jason. Obnoxious guy from Vogue. Comes in on Tuesdays. Orders iced coffee. You hate iced coffee.”

“Blaine, I-“

He could hear the shock in Kurt’s voice, but he ignored it, his own voice growing steadily in volume as he read the details off each of his meticulously placed sticky notes. Orange. Orange for Kurt’s jobs. “Ricky. Busboy and cleaning guy. Smokes weed in the bathroom. Tim. Always tries to get a free refill.” 

He could hear Kurt’s breathing, or maybe it was his own, through the speaker of the phone, harsh and unsteady.

“Allen. Dierdre. Cassie. Do you want me to- to- to- to keep going?”

“I- Blaine, what- How do you- Some of those are barely even regulars.”

“Because I pay attention!” Blaine was shouting, now, his throat raw as he yelled at the tiny little screen. “Because I- I- I can’t- I can’t-“ He threw his journal across the room in a crash of pages, sticky notes that had lost their stick a long time ago and been tucked lovingly into the binding flying wildly through the air, “fuck.” He dug his hands into his hair, feeling that stupid scar over his forehead, and he closed his eyes, willing the words to come, needing them to be as smooth as they could be. “I can’t-,” forget, “remember but I’m not- not-“ dumb, an idiot, “stupid.” His voice was wavering, fury pounding through his chest. “I- I pay-… attention. I- I hear. Listen.” His head was pounding. All he could think about was the fact that Kurt had apparently been hiding this Charlie character from him for months. Since he’d moved to New York. People made mistakes, but this felt different. It felt deliberate. “No Charlie. You’ve never- never ever mentioned- um, him.”

Kurt was making little noises through the phone, the starts of words. He was stuttering. He sounded like Blaine on a bad speech day.

“I- I’m so, so sorry.”

Blaine looked at the phone and thought of Kurt. Kurt, likely curled up and crying on his comfy bed in his perfect New York apartment with his stellar job and his wonderful friends. Blaine clutched at his scratchy blanket, alone in a hospital room in Ohio, even his mother having left him behind. In that moment, he was absolutely disgusted by Kurt. 

“I don’t care.”

He pressed the button to end the call, then turned the phone off and tossed it across the room to land with his journal. Kurt had cheated on him. Kurt had lied. He didn’t know if he could forgive that.

He didn’t know if he could. He didn’t know if he wanted to.


	18. But What About You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience for this chapter! I have been housesitting in the middle of nowhere with no access to the internet. Makes posting very difficult. But I have returned!
> 
> Thank you all for the comments on the last chapter. I'm so glad that you're as proud of Blaine as I am!

Blaine checked his phone, the same way he did every morning. No missed calls today. That was a first. But there were the usual text messages. 

_I know you’re still mad at me, but I wanted to say goodnight._

_I missed you tonight. Should’ve been our Skype call. We haven’t missed one of those in a while._

_Please just let me know that you’re okay._

_I miss you._

He didn’t delete them, but he closed the messaging app without sending anything back. Kurt had messaged him at least twice every day since their last conversation. He’d been calling, leaving voicemails, messaging through facebook and text message and everything else he could think of. Blaine hadn’t answered. He wasn’t really sure what to say. Kurt had cheated on him with someone in New York. Someone he’d never mentioned. And no matter how much his heart ached, no matter how much he missed him, that really wasn’t okay.

He sighed quietly and closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples. He’d had headaches every day since he’d ended up in the hospital with the seizure. He hadn’t mentioned them to his mom. He glanced at the sticky note by his bed, his schedule written out in the chicken scratch that passed for his handwriting. He had an appointment with his neurologist after PT today. They’d talk, see if the pain meant anything serious or if it was just yet another result of missing his meds. He still couldn’t believe he’d let that happen. There was even a note on his pill sticky note for that day that said ‘out of seizure meds, tell mom’. In his excitement over seeing Kurt (and finally being allowed to go to the airport to pick him up), he’d completely forgotten about it.

Due to his slip-up, his mom would be in momentarily to watch him take pills, counting them into his hand. He hated it, but he couldn’t blame her. The seizure had scared everyone. He let his head fall back against the pillows, taking a moment to be utterly, bitterly unhappy. 

His boyfriend was a cheater. He’d worried his mom so much that she could barely stand to be around him. Though she must have told his father that he and Kurt were fighting. He’d seemed oddly cheery. Sam was busy babysitting his siblings this week and couldn’t be around. His head was pounding. He felt the stinging in his eyes and the lump in his throat and held himself right there, not quite letting himself cry. One minute a day. He had one minute a day to be freaking miserable.

There was a knock at the door and he sat up, wiping at his eyes. “Hi- um, Mom.”

Pam stepped into the room quickly, turning on the lamp by the door instead of the overhead light. He may not have told her about the headaches, but she apparently knew. “Good morning, Blaine.” She stepped into the room properly and started opening the pill bottles on the desk, shaking out the appropriate dosages. 

Blaine watched her, fighting back a sigh as he sat up using the mechanical bed. “How are- um, how are you?”

Pam looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m fine, Blaine.” 

He faltered, giving up on the idea of small talk. She didn’t ask about Kurt, and he didn’t offer. He took the pills when they were pressed into his hand, swallowing them down obediently with the glass of water she handed him after. His hands were mostly steady. He didn’t miss his mouth, not even on the first try.

Baby steps.

Progress.

He was doing his best to be patient. Really, he was. He felt like he had the patience of a saint after the number of tests he’d gone through, post-seizure. Scans and blood tests and lights shined in his eyes. He’d been fine with his mother fussing, with the pills being handed to him in a very specific order, with the assumption that he was no longer capable of taking care of himself. Losing his organizational system had hurt. His mother wasn’t allowing his sticky note system, not since it had failed him so spectacularly. But even with that, he’d said he understood. He’d watched quietly as she’d taken down the chart on the wall. But sitting like a lump in a chair while his mother wheeled him around when he was perfectly capable was one too many embarrassments. By the time they reached the rehab center, there were impressions of his fingernails so deep into his stress ball that he didn’t think it’d ever recover.

“Mrs. Anderson!” Alex seemed his usual, chipper self.

“Hello, Alex,” Pam said shortly. “Now, I want you to keep in mind that he’s got a neurologist appointment after this. I don’t want him exhausted before he gets there. And there’s still the possibility of another seizure. They’ve got him on his meds, but I read online that overdoing it would be a bad decision.”

Blaine watched Alex carefully, but his smile seemed completely genuine. “Don’t worry, I won’t push him. I know he needs time to recover. I’ve been with Blaine since the very beginning, Mr. Anderson, I know how he gets post-seizure. I promise that we won’t do anything too strenuous.”

Blaine tuned them out as his mother continued to nag and Alex continued to reassure. He wondered what Kurt was doing, now. He was probably at work. Vogue, most likely, given the time of day. He wondered if that Charlie guy was texting him. If they’d seen each other again since that night. The thought made his stomach twist in weird ways. He didn’t want Kurt to be with that guy. He was probably gorgeous and eloquent and well-dressed. Blaine picked at the seam of his sweatpants, shoulders tense.

“Earth to Blainers.”

Blaine jumped, looking up at Alex, coming back down to the present situation. “Um, hi.”

“Your mom’s been gone about a minute. How you holding up?”

Blaine shrugged. “She made me miss my, um,” he frowned. Meetings, sessions, “Um, appointments. With my- my shrink and my- um, my-,” he rolled his eyes, “the talky one.”

Alex grinned at the description. “Well, I’m glad she’s still letting you come see me.” His expression sobered. “Any news on the Kurt front?”

Blaine shrugged. “He’s still- um, texting a lot, but I’m not- um, not answering.”

Alex nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.” He was as gentle as he could be. “I know this must be hard on you. But if he’s still trying to text, that’s a good thing, right?”

Blaine sighed quietly. “I just- I don’t- I was-,” he shook his head and reached for his notebook. He was trying to depend on it less, but his head was still aching and he didn’t feel like digging through his broken brain for words. He scratched out a quick note. “I don’t know what to do with myself. Everything was about Kurt. I’d wake up and talk to him. Skype him at night before bed. Now that I’m not, everything’s boring.”

Alex tipped his head to the side. “You know you don’t have to be dependent on Kurt to move forward, right?”

Blaine shrugged, only writing after Alex let the silence linger a little too long. “He’s the reason I’ve been working so hard. Wanting to make him proud of me, wanting to prove that I can make it in New York with him. He’s… he’s why.”

Alex hummed and nodded. “I get that. But what’s the plan once you get to New York?”

Blaine just stared at him, blankly. “What?”

“What’s the plan in New York? I know that’s the goal. You’re dreaming about New York City and living with Kurt, right?”

Blaine winced, but nodded.

“So picture your life a few months from now. Or a year. Whenever. You’ve made it to New York. Kurt’s still working two jobs because rent in New York is insanely expensive. What are you doing?”

Blaine froze. 

He had no idea.

His focus had been on getting to New York. That was the end goal. The how was important, physical therapy and speech therapy and therapy therapy. But once he was there, he had no idea what he was going to do. He cleared his throat. “I- um, I- I want- I mean, I’d be with- with- with Kurt.”

Alex nodded. “And maybe that’s something you still want. You’ve got to figure out what’s important on that front, buddy. But being with Kurt isn’t the end all, be all. He’ll be busy all day, every day, trying to keep up with bills and rent and school, if he decides to go that route.”

Blaine looked up at Alex helplessly. He was right. Kurt would have to work to support two people. Which really wasn’t fair, when he thought about it. And what would Blaine be able to contribute? Or, for that matter, even do? If he wasn’t in physical therapy constantly, if he reached the point where he didn’t need speech therapy so often, what would he do? The thought was completely overwhelming.

Alex grinned. “This is the fun part, you know. What do you want to do when you grow up?”

Blaine blinked, looking at Alex like he was speaking in tongues. “This is- um- is fun?” He took a slow breath, trying to steady himself. “I used to want- um,” he grabbed for his notebook. It took him a while. Not only had he not used the words in a while, he hadn’t thought about what he wanted in a long time, beyond being with Kurt. “I wanted to perform. Sing on stage in front of people. But I- I can’t even remember the words I need to make that sentence. How am I supposed to remember lyrics?”

Alex shrugged. “You never know, bud.”

Blaine shook his head, writing furiously. “I don’t think I could handle being onstage. That just seems like a lot. I can barely handle being in public, right now.”

Alex nodded. “Well, there are lots of options when it comes to performing. Maybe you want to be onstage. I’m sure you could figure out a way, if you really wanted to. Or maybe you want to write or produce, or do sound tech work. You could record things at home, do voice acting or singing. You can work in music or theater in all kinds of ways, nowadays. New York’s a great city for it.”

Blaine nodded. He reached for his notebook again. “I always thought that I’d spend all of my time in high school performing whenever I could and then be a theater major or something when I went to college.”

“Well, you may have missed the boat a little on performing in high school, but why not still major in theater at college?”

Blaine shot him a look. “I didn’t even- um, graduate.”

Alex smiled. “Plenty of ways around that, in this day and age. We could get you into a program to help you finish your high school education. You could get your GED. Or if you wanted the actual diploma, there are online classes, alternative education. You’re not stupid, Blaine. You missed out on the chance to go to a normal high school, but that doesn’t mean you can’t lead a mostly normal life from here.”

Blaine swallowed hard at those words. He felt stupid. He couldn’t communicate, he couldn’t move very well, still. There was so much he didn’t know, couldn’t do. A normal life seemed so beyond his reach that it was more depressing than funny. And yet, here Alex was, telling him that he could still have that. All of it. Maybe he wouldn’t have to sit around like a lump while Kurt worked every day. Maybe he could contribute. And beyond that, maybe he could do something that mattered.

Alex moved closer to his chair, crouching down in front of him. “Hey,” he said gently, “I mean that. One hundred percent. You are a lot of things, but you’re not stupid. Not even close. If you want to finish high school, then let’s talk to your therapist, talk to your mom. I know you’ve been really focused on Kurt, and I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing.” He reached out and gently squeezed Blaine’s hand. “But maybe it’s time to put a little bit of the focus back on you and what you want out of life, with or without Kurt. What do you say?”

Blaine hadn’t ever thought about his future without Kurt. He’d never thought it necessary. And this wasn’t really a future separate from Kurt. It was a future he could have either way. A future that was about him, not about his boyfriend. Whether he and Kurt made up or not, he sort of liked the idea of that. 

He took a deep breath, met Alex’s eyes, and nodded. “Yeah. Yes. I want- I want that. A-… Options.”

Alex beamed. “Your wish is my command, bud. Let’s see what we can do.”


	19. July

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> I realize that updates to this story have become increasingly sporadic. I'm trying to stick to once a week, but there's really no schedule. Thank you all so much for bearing with me, and allowing me to be my nutty self and take the time I need.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support on the last chapter! I'm glad that everyone's enjoying Alex's gentle reality checks. He's rapidly become one of my favorite characters.
> 
> So this chapter is a little bit different. I'm dying to know what y'all think. Leave me a comment to let me know, if you like. I'm so curious!

Kurt stared down at the phone in his hand, reading the message for the fifteenth time that day.

**I know you’re supposed to fly home tomorrow. Please don’t. I’m not ready yet. I need a little more time.**

It was the first message he’d received from Blaine since their last phone conversation. No typos. That meant he’d been over it at least a few times. Kurt swallowed hard and closed his eyes, forcing himself to return his phone in his pocket as the subway came to a stop. Blaine had taken the time to type out each word carefully, considering them one by one. It was the cleanest text message he’d ever received from him, and it was the first to break his heart.

Kurt had been debating all day. Blaine didn’t want him to go back to Ohio. Kurt was desperate to go home, to see him, to communicate face-to-face. He was used to at least a handful of text messages a day, phone calls, Skype dates. The sudden rado silence was terrible. And there was nothing he could do, short of flying home and showing up at his house.

Kurt had bought the tickets nearly a month ago for a 4th of July trip home. His flight was scheduled for late tonight. He could use his dad as an excuse to go home, even if Blaine had asked him to stay. He could pretend he hadn’t seen the message. He could acknowledge the message and show up at Blaine’s house anyway, holding a boom box over his head outside his window until Blaine came outside and admitted that they were both idiots and they belonged together. 

Kurt sighed, pushing himself out of his seat and exiting the subway train. He’d respect Blaine’s wishes. He’d stay in New York. No matter how much it hurt, it was the right thing to do. If Blaine wasn’t ready, he couldn’t force the issue. 

He walked toward the coffee shop, pausing when he had the front door in sight. He’d seen Charlie a dozen times since the incident, at least. They’d never talked about that night. Charlie had never said a word, and Kurt had no idea how to bring it up. Privately, he thought Charlie had either been so drunk he couldn’t remember, or he’d decided the embarrassment was too much and he’d rather let it go. Kurt had been putting distance between them, avoiding him. Tonight would be the first shift they’d work together since it happened. 

Kurt glanced down at his watch and sighed. He was early. Typically, when he was early for a shift, he’d go in and grab a cookie or a mocha, talk to Charlie about his day. Or he’d duck into the back and call Blaine just to hear his voice. He swallowed hard at the thought, staring at the door of the coffee shop that had once been one of his favorite places in the city.

The doors seemed taller than usual. Instead of warm and inviting, the coffee shop seemed almost foreboding. He checked his watch again. Half an hour. He bit his lip, looked up, and felt his stomach clench with panic. The door was opening. What if it was Charlie? He’d spot him standing around on the street like some crazy person. He’d think he was insane. Or worse, he’d use that insight he always seemed to have at the worst time and realize what was on Kurt’s mind. That was infinitely worse. Without thinking about it, he ducked into the first door on his left, climbing up the stairs inside two at a time. 

At the top, he found an old, wooden door, intricately carved. A small, gold plaque was engraved with ‘Third Eye Imporium’ over the image of a hand with an eye in the center. He wondered if they knew the name of their shop was misspelled. He bit his lip, glancing back down the stairs. Whoever had walked out of the coffee shop was probably long gone. There was next to no chance that it had actually been Charlie. He could go downstairs, slap on a smile, pretend that everything was fine. He looked back at the door, the eye in the palm of the hand seeming to watch him. He had a little time. And for just this one moment, he didn’t want to have to pretend. He thought he caught a glint of approval in the eye as he opened the door and stepped through.

The shop smelled like leather, old books, and sage. Worn wooden shelves in every color and style started just inside the door and stretched back far enough to completely obscure Kurt’s view. They were covered in a variety of objects he knew and some he didn’t. Bottles of brightly colored liquids, feathers, tarot cards, necklaces with odd charms. Kurt stepped a bit closer to a display, running his fingers over a small Egyptian ankh on a silver chain. He nearly jumped out of his skin as a bright orange tabby cat ran over his foot.

“Don’t worry, he’s friendly.” 

His hand moved to cover his heart automatically as he whirled around to face the woman who’d spoken. This shop was going to give him a heart attack. She had dark blonde hair and a bright smile that made her brown eyes shine. She was dressed simply in jeans and a T-shirt, a gauzy scarf around her neck. He’d half expected flowing skirts and a million rings. She was wearing a symbol around her neck that he vaguely recognized, but he didn’t know its name. “Could’ve fooled me. He belongs in a horror movie. I swear he came out of nowhere.”

She seemed to laugh at him without making a sound, her eyes crinkling around the edges. “He can be a bit of a trickster. But he always knows who needs a little help.” She tipped her head, and Kurt shifted from foot to foot under her analytical gaze. “Rough day?”

Kurt shook his head, opening his mouth to tell her that it was none of her business. But if she’d noticed after a single glance, that probably wouldn’t do him any good. His jaw set and he crossed his arms over his chest, uncomfortable with being vulnerable, even with a stranger. “I’ve had better.” 

She smiled again, and Kurt was struck by how timeless she seemed. She could have been seventeen or thirty. She just had one of those faces. “Come on,” she said quietly, “I’ve got just the tea for this.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I’m not supposed to accept drinks from strangers.”

She laughed, this time out loud, and Kurt immediately relaxed. The laughter was loud and bright, instantly lightening the room around her. He grinned automatically, letting his arms drop to his sides. It was possible she was trying to help. This sort of shop probably thrived on people who were going through rough times.” 

“Well, I’m afraid the official taster is out of town, so you’ll have to settle for me drinking out of the same pot. Besides, if I poisoned people coming into my shop, that’s not a great way to gain repeat customers.”

Kurt snorted. He glanced at the door, then at his watch. Twenty minutes, still. He had time for a cup of tea. “Why not? Poison can only kill me, after all.” 

He followed her to the back corner of the shop. Bookshelves surrounded two large, overstuffed chairs. An electric kettle and a hodgepodge of tea tins were tucked on a shelf, along with a half dozen mugs. Kurt picked up a neon orange one covered in swirls of yellow. 

He smiled at the thought of Blaine in this place. He’d be fascinated by everything, asking a million questions. He’d probably want to try every type of tea and leave the shop an expert at tarot cards or something. Kurt’s heart ached at the thought. He wished he could send him a picture.

“He’d like that one?” the girl asked quietly. 

“He’d love this one,” Kurt said with a nod. “He loves bright colors. Sometimes, he dresses in a way that’s so loud, it almost hurts your ears to look at it. I’ve seen the man rock bright red pants, a teal belt, and a sunflower yellow shirt.” He cleared his throat and set down the mug, picking up a similar style in a far more subdued periwinkle blue.

She started the electric kettle, already full of water, and pulled out a teapot. Kurt sat down in one of the two chairs. He examined the books on the shelves as they waited for the water to boil. They were mostly what he’d expected. Astrology, holistic healing, the power of crystals. The type of new-age hippy crap that always seemed to feature heavily in whatever supernatural show the CW was featuring that month. 

A few minutes later, there was a tray with a kettle full of steeping tea balanced precariously on the arm of her chair and both of their mugs were full. She didn’t seem to mind the threat of a steaming teakettle tipping into her lap. Kurt had a feeling she did this a lot. 

He sipped at his tea, humming appreciatively. It was citrusy and sweet, but not overpowering. It was perfect. “Thank you for this. I should really drink tea more often. My roommate swears by it, but I’ve always been more of a coffee person. Still, doesn’t really help me relax. Relaxation can be a little hard to come by, these days.”

She nodded. “I understand that. Being separated from someone you love is hard.”

He blinked, frowning slightly. He hadn’t mentioned Blaine. Not directly, anyway. He wasn’t the sort to share with strangers. He was certain he hadn’t mentioned him. He lifted an eyebrow in her direction. 

She only grinned. “Easy guess. People tend to come here when they’re troubled. It’s almost always to do with romance. Besides, you’ve got a,” she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers, waggling her eyebrows at the same time as if to make fun of herself, “vibe.”

Kurt’s eyebrow tried to climb past his hairline. “A vibe?”

“You’re missing someone. It’s easy to see.”

He supposed he had been a bit morose. And everyone who’d ever met him knew he was gay. He wasn’t exactly difficult to clock. He sighed quietly. “I guess you’re right. I mean, I have a- Well, my boyfriend is back home. The distance is a little rough. That’s all.” 

She tilted her head, shifting to sit cross-legged on the chair as she sipped her tea. Kurt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The silence was comfortable, oddly enough. The room was warm, or maybe that was just the tea. Her expression was curious. She was leaving the door open for him to talk some more without demanding anything of him. It was refreshing compared to Rachel’s blunt force friendship.

“I guess it’s a little more than that. I made a mistake. I told him about it, and it hurt him. So now he’s… he’s pulling away. Pulled away, really. About as far as he can get. I don’t blame him, I’m just a little frustrated by the situation. And I- I miss him.”

“When two people are tied together, pulling away doesn’t break the tether,” she said gently. “Not necessarily, anyway. Not when you still care about each other so much. It’s rare to find the sort of connection that persists over so many miles.”

Kurt sighed. “Yeah. I mean, I guess. It just feels like things are starting to fall apart.” 

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug, holding her mug in both hands. “But I don’t think you really believe that. You found him when he was nearly lost. That sort of thing doesn’t go away because of a mistake. Even an epic mistake.” 

Nearly lost was a bit of an understatement. Kurt remembered the cemetery. He remembered the look on Blaine’s face when he realized someone could see him. His smile over coffee at the Lima Bean. The electricity in their first real kiss. The way Kurt felt when they were close, like the rest of the world could fade away and he’d still be happy as long as he was with Blaine. He swallowed hard, eyes stinging. 

“It feels like whatever connection we have is breaking. It’s not just one mistake. It’s missed texts and phone calls and Skype dates. It’s a missed trip home. I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can to build something for the two of us, for when he finally gets to move out here, but I-… It’s just so much.” 

He looked up as a warm hand wrapped around his own. He hadn’t even seen her move. She squeezed his hand gently. Normally, he’d recoil from a stranger’s touch. But why not talk to someone he’d never see again? Why not let himself feel what he was feeling instead of trying to control it all? “A tether is strongest when it’s between two anchored points, each firmly grounded on its own. You can’t drag him, Kurt. Carrying the weight of everything on your own will only tear you apart more quickly. I’m sure he’s stronger than you think. Maybe even stronger than he thinks. He found you as much as you found him. He’s the one that reached out, after all.” She smiled softly at him. “You can find your balance, if you try.”

“He is strong. He’s just- He needs help. And I need to help him.”

Her grin widened, eyes crinkling, and Kurt absently wondered how old she was. The lines around her eyes were deep, the result of years of grins just like that one. “And what about you? Don’t you think you could use a helping hand, yourself?”

Kurt hadn’t been sleeping very well. He’d been working himself to the bone. Worrying over Blaine, keeping up with two jobs, trying to find an apartment which felt more like a pipe dream every day. Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Maybe he needed to lean on Blaine a little more. He liked the mental image of the two of them tied together, two bright points linked together by a strand of pure light. Maybe he needed to accept that Blaine could help him as much as he could help Blaine. He chewed on his lip and nodded.

“I guess I hadn’t thought of it that way.” 

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and checked it, frowning at the message.

** _Where the hell are you, Kurt? Are you coming in?_ **

He practically leapt out of his seat. He was twenty minutes late for work. He frowned, grabbing for his bag and setting the mug aside. “Thank you. I have to go, but this has been really… unique.” He looked at her again, opened his mouth as if to say something more, and then shook his head. He didn’t have time. “Right. Um, thanks.” 

He power walked to the front door, nearly tripping over the cat who seemed perfectly content to nap in the middle of the walkway. The eye in the plaque seemed to wink as he slammed the door shut behind him, running for the street and the coffee shop beyond. 

It wasn’t until much later that night, when he was composing his latest text to Blaine that he realized he’d never told the woman in the shop his name.


	20. Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Thank you all for the comments and kudos and awesomeness on the last chapter. Y'all have no idea how much inspiration it provides to see that people are still enjoying the story. I'm even getting notifications from Ghost Story from time to time! You guys are truly amazing.
> 
> I'm glad that everyone seemed to enjoy the magic. We've got a return back to form (ish) for this next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Blaine sat in front of his desk, squeezing his stress ball rhythmically. His chair was tucked in neatly so he could reach. To his right, there was a stack of colorful notebooks, three colorful pencils, a large eraser. Directly in front of him was his laptop, showing a list of classes. To his left, a stack of textbooks, leather-bound and ridiculously expensive looking. He’d never seen a leather-bound textbook before. He took a breath and reached out for the computer, hand hovering over the mouse before returning to the stress ball in his lap. Squeeze. Release. Breathe. Squeeze. He chewed on his lip, building himself up to try again.

The conversation had progressed quickly. After talking with Alex, he’d brought up the idea of school at his appointment with his neurologist. The doctor had been delighted. He’d spouted off a long speech about how Blaine shouldn’t doubt his intelligence just because of his handicap. The whole thing had been a lot more patronizing than he’d probably intended, but he’d been supportive, at least. On the way home from his appointment, he’d talked with his mother. She’d been cautiously optimistic, though she’d insisted on calling everyone else that day. His speech therapist thought it was an excellent idea. He could work on his speech skills with his teachers, work on his written communication skills, use words he hadn’t had to grapple with in his day-to-day conversation. His psychiatrist had actually clapped when he’d asked her about it. He could picture her bouncing in her chair, even through the phone. Even the conversation he’d overheard between his mom and dad had been positive, and he’d offered to foot the bill for whatever school they ended up choosing. 

There were stipulations, of course. He couldn’t work himself up too much. He needed to find a program that would allow him to take breaks when he couldn’t function well enough for class. If his panic attacks increased in frequency or intensity, he’d have to pause classes until he could get with his shrink. He’d be limited to whatever he could do from home, since his mom still didn’t think he could handle sitting in class with other people. After the seizure scare, he didn’t really have the heart to argue with her. 

She’d been amazing. She’d contacted his old high school the Monday after they’d talked. They had GED courses at night and on the weekends, but they were mostly older people who were getting their education for the first time, and the class was heavily based on in-class attendance. The other public high schools in the area had similar programs, all at different times of day. Between the ever-present threat of a medical issue or Blaine freaking out, he understood why his mom had insisted on online classes. Unfortunately, there just weren’t any available. Blaine had started to accept that he’d just have to wait until he was a little stronger. 

Two days ago, Pam had walked into his room carrying that ridiculous stack of textbooks and plopped them on his desk, looking triumphant. He hadn’t seen her so dedicated to something involving him in a long time, if ever. When the public schools had failed them, she’d contacted a local prep school. Not only were they willing to give Blaine a chance to graduate, they had a full online curriculum. He imagined the tuition was insane, but he tried not to think about it too much. He had access to his teachers (called professors, for some reason) via email. He could watch and re-watch the lectures online. He could make a one-hour lecture last for two days, if he needed it. They were willing to send someone to his house to proctor exams, when the time came. She said that they’d even offered a tutor, if he needed in-home assistance. And best of all, he could work at his own pace. He could graduate in a month or three years. So long as they paid for each of the courses, it didn’t matter. It was the perfect setup.

Blaine sat there, staring at the school’s navy and red website, pictures of smiling students down the left side of the screen, the list of courses staring at him in bold, black font. All he had to do was click the link to pull up a folder full of lectures and information. He’d watched their tutorial on how to get to the resources. A smiling young man in a suit had walked him carefully through the process. All he had to do was lift his hand to the mouse and click. He squeezed the stress ball and breathed in slowly. Five things he could see. Computer. Leather textbooks. Black letters. He glanced at his phone. Kurt’s face, still his lockscreen. That made him feel an entirely different sort of uncomfortable. 

He was ripped out of his head by the sound of the door opening. He scrambled to grab a pencil, look like he was working. He’d wasted forty minutes of his allotted hour for schoolwork doing nothing but watching that one tutorial and panicking about the possibility of having to go to class. He didn’t want his mom to think he was wasting her investment. In his rush to grab a notepad and pencil, somehow all three pencils, the eraser, and his stress ball landed on the ground at his mother’s feet. 

“Blaine, I was just wanting to check on your progress,” Pam said brightly, grinning from ear to ear. Her expression shifted as she caught sight of his wide eyes, the mess on the ground. She bent slowly to pick them up. 

Blaine cleared his throat, fingers twitching, trying to squeeze the stupid ball that wasn’t there. “It’s going- um, really- really-,” he swallowed hard, “great.”

Pam tilted her head to the side and sat on the very edge of his desk, twisting one of the pencils between her fingers. The silence stretched out between them and Blaine started trying to think of excuses. The light from the laptop was bothering his head. Plausible. The textbooks looked too heavy and he thought he might drop them. Problematic. He didn’t actually want his mom thinking that. The pencil lead was too thin, and when he’d started to write, it had snapped, and he’d just kept going until the whole pencil was empty. Three times. Without making a mark in any of the notebooks. He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to roll them. 

“You know,” Pam said in a tone that was a little too forced to be conversational. Blaine prepared himself as best he could. He was going to be told this was all a mistake. He was clearly too damaged to be trying to take classes. She was going to take away his chance. He swallowed hard, trying to look calm and collected. He could try again, someday. “Once, when I was in high school, I ended up with pneumonia. We thought it was just a cold or something that wouldn’t go away. By the time we realized how serious it was, I had to be hospitalized.”

Blaine blinked, surprised by the turn in conversation. He’d never heard this story, before. 

“I was out of school for nearly a month. Coughing, feverish. Fluid in my lungs. The stupid thing wouldn’t stop coming back.” She shot him a small, careful smile. “There are certainly worse things, but for me, it felt like the end of the world.” She set his pencils down on the desk and then took his hand, holding it carefully in one of her own. “Whatever they gave me finally worked. I was cured. But I ended up out of school for another three days.” She placed the stress ball in the center of his palm and closed his fingers around it. “Your grandmother was furious. But my dad was the one who dropped me off in the mornings. Each of those three days, he’d pack me into the car with my backpack and drive me to school. Every day, I’d throw a fit and refuse to go inside. Mother thought I was just lazy and wanted more time off, but I think my dad understood a little better.” She glanced down at the pile of textbooks, letting go of Blaine’s hand to straighten them, lining the edges up perfectly on top of each other. “I wasn’t lazy, and I wasn’t still sick. I knew I could go back. But I figured that after a month away, I was never going to be able to catch up. That the classes would have covered so much material that I’d never recover.” 

She straightened the pencils as well, lining them up in front of Blaine, all the tips perfectly aligned against the wood grain of the desk. “It took me three days to build up the courage to walk back into that building. And when I did, it was difficult. But I caught up. Ended up graduating with honors, moving on to college, meeting your dad. Those first few days were miserable. Overwhelming. I was convinced I was an idiot.” Pam caught Blaine’s eyes. “But I’m no idiot, Blaine. It took some time to get back to where I’d started. But I got there. You know better than anyone that you can do amazing things, but you can’t do them until you start.” 

Blaine thought of his first days in the hospital when he couldn’t even sit on his own. Now, he could walk. Not far, and not without the assistance of a walker, but he could walk across a room. He could wheel himself around. He could take his medication, write notes to himself. Even on days where he felt like he couldn’t do anything, he knew it wasn’t really true.

“Getting out of the car and walking into the building was the single hardest thing I did.”

Blaine nodded, at a loss for words. He squeezed his stress ball, glancing back to the screen. His mouse still hovered over the first class in the list. Algebra. He hadn’t had to so much as add anything together in years. He knew that his mom was trying to be encouraging, but she’d only been gone a month. And she hadn’t had literal brain damage to contend with.

“You know,” he looked up, trying to school his face back to neutral. She must have caught something in his expression, “it’s been ages since I’ve used any of the math skills I learned in high school. Might not be so bad to have a refresher. Why don’t I come in during your study time tomorrow and we can learn it together? I’ll make us some tea and you can explain the concepts that go over my head.”

Blaine swallowed hard, fighting off a wave of tears he didn’t quite understand. After a moment, he reached for his mom, gently holding the hand that was resting on her lap. “Okay.” He knew he should say more than that, have a more eloquent acceptance of the olive branch she was extending, but he simply didn’t have the words. 

For once, she seemed to understand. She squeezed his fingers with a gentle smile, then stood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

She reached for the door and paused, hand slipping into her pocket. Her expression sobered as she pulled something out. A letter, folded in half. “I nearly forgot about this. I didn’t want to bring it up while you were working. But I suppose… Well, you need to know. Just remember, you can change your mind at any time. No one can force you to go through with this.”

Blaine frowned, not quite sure what she meant. He reached for the letter with hands that only shook a little. He didn’t even miss. Well, he didn’t miss by more than six inches. He read the letter slowly, carefully, his stomach sinking through his chair to settle somewhere around his feet. 

He wanted to text Sam. He wanted to call Kurt. 

Instead, he straightened his shoulders, taking a deep breath. “No, this is a- a-,” opposite of bad, “a good thing. I- um, I want to. I- I-,” told, said, “promised.” 

He handed the letter back to his mom. She broke eye contact first, re-folding the letter and slipping it back into her pocket. 

“You’ll take me, won’t- um, won’t you?” His voice trembled. He wondered if she noticed. 

She was quiet and still for a long moment before she reached for the doorknob. “Yes, Blaine. I’ll take you.” And with that, she slipped out his door.

He felt no real relief as he turned back to his computer, stress ball back in its home in his lap. He stared at the computer highlighting the name of the course, but his mind was a million miles away with what he had to do. He reached up and closed the screen. Suddenly, school didn’t seem like the most intimidating part of his life anymore.


	21. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for the kind words on the last chapter! You have no idea how much it brightens my day when I get a notification that someone has left a comment on my story. It really is a phenomenal feeling, and I'm grateful to all of y'all.
> 
> This is one of the least edited entries in this series. When I finally had a chance to sit down and write it, it came out almost exactly as I'd envisioned. I hope you guys enjoy!

“Hi, there, stranger.”

Kurt looked up to see Charlie standing at his table. He shot him a weak smile and stood, not quite sure what to do. A handshake was too formal and weird. Their normal hug was way too intimate. He settled for one of the bro hugs he saw Finn give Puck all the time in high school. It was weird, and Charlie’s expression was a little confused as he moved to sit down across from Kurt, but it was better than nothing.

“I’m glad you could meet me. Thanks for coming.”

It had been eight weeks since the disastrous outing at the club that had come so very close to ruining Kurt’s life. He’d avoided Charlie as much as physically possible. He’d shifted his work schedule, so they didn’t have many shifts together. He’d arrived late and left early. He’d worked longer hours at Vogue to compensate. He’d done everything he could to keep his distance.

But he missed his friend. He missed talking to Charlie about apartment shopping and the antics of Jason at Vogue. Charlie had been his dumping ground for everything that came up in his day-to-day life that he didn’t have time to mention to Blaine. He wanted that friendship back. Thus the meeting today in a neutral coffee shop away from work.

Charlie raised an eyebrow, and Kurt realized the silence between them had been a little too long.

“Okay,” Kurt said with a nod. “Right.” He cleared his throat, spinning his coffee cup between his hands. “So, I’ve sort of been avoiding you.”

Charlie hummed, setting his own coffee on the table. “Sort of wondered if we were ever going to talk about that.”

“Do you remember what happened the night we went out?”

Charlie tipped his head. “Out clubbing? Yeah. You had a great time. We talked, we danced, we laughed. My friends adored you. They keep asking about you, by the way. You’re welcome to join us any time. Everything was pretty great.”

Kurt bit his lip. “Most of the night was fantastic. But not all of it.” He waited until he caught Charlie’s eye. “You kissed me.”

Charlie’s expression was unreadable as he sipped at his coffee. Kurt couldn’t tell if he remembered the details of what had happened on that night. 

“At the end of the night, we’d been dancing and we’d been close, and you kissed me.”

Charlie inclined his head slightly. “Okay.” Kurt was pretty certain he’d never seen him so still. He wished he’d give something away. Blaine gave everything away when they were talking. He fidgeted. He played with his stress ball. His face was beyond expressive. Compared to him, Charlie could have been made of stone.

“I have a boyfriend.”

Charlie sighed, finally breaking the stillness. He ran a hand through his hair. “I know you have a boyfriend. The guy from Ohio who can’t be bothered to visit you in New York. You talk about him a lot, Kurt. It’s not like I’ve forgotten.”

“And you kissed me anyway.”

“I was drunk.” Charlie shook his head. “Look, I woke up the next day with a headache that I thought was going to kill me in my bathtub. I drank a lot that night. And yes, apparently, I kissed you. Can you really blame me? I mean, you’re gorgeous. We were dancing, I was holding onto you for most of the day. Until that night, we’d been really close. I’m sorry that I wasn’t thinking about the boyfriend in that exact moment. But, frankly, I don’t think you were, either. And I think you’d be a hell of a lot happier with someone you could see more often than once a month.”

Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Charlie wasn’t wrong. Kurt hadn’t been thinking about Blaine. That had been the worst decision he’d made in a long time. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m not blaming you. I made a lot of mistakes that night. And it was really nice to go out with you, with your friends. But I’m with Blaine. And I want to be with Blaine. Whether he’s here or not.” He looked up at Charlie. “He’s not- It’s not that he’s lazy, okay? He’s… he’s recovering.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly expecting an explanation. 

Kurt wanted to give it, tell Charlie everything. Blaine’s injury, the coma, his recovery. He wanted to pour his heart out to a sympathetic ear and lay everything on the table. But this wasn’t about whether Blaine was a good boyfriend. It wasn’t about Ohio versus New York or Charlie versus Blaine. It was about Charlie respecting Kurt’s boundaries, and Kurt respecting Blaine’s. If Charlie was only going to be okay with not kissing Kurt because of a boyfriend he didn’t like, then that was a problem in and of itself. So he straightened his spine. “Look, it doesn’t matter what your opinion of Blaine is.” He saw surprise register on Charlie’s face. “It really doesn’t. I care about him more than anything. I don’t need your permission or approval to be with someone that I know makes my life better in every possible way. If you want my friendship, then you’re going to have to stop making comments about him all the time and understand the fact that I’m taken. I’m not interested in dating you.” His voice softened a little. “Look, Charlie, I miss you. But I miss you as a friend. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, and if that’s not okay, then we need to stop hanging out.”

Charlie’s expression was strange as he took a drink of his coffee and set down the cup. Kurt wished he could read minds, to know what was going on in there. His stomach was twisting with nerves. He hoped that Charlie wasn’t going to get up and walk out of his life. But maybe Kurt had screwed up one too many times.

Charlie looked up at him after a long moment. “I’m sorry about the kiss,” he said eventually. “But you and I both know that we have chemistry. I wasn’t the only one who felt it that night. You were touching me just as much as I was touching you while we danced. Alcohol lowers your inhibitions; it doesn’t turn you into a different person. And if you’d stop being held back by some guy who doesn’t care enough to show up, then you could see what a real relationship is like, instead of just waiting around on your high school sweetheart to get his head out of his ass.” He shook his head, pushing his chair back from the table. “I’m going to go. I’ll see you at work, okay?”

Kurt hesitated, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “So are we- I mean, are you- Are we okay?”

Charlie stood, pushing the chair under the table. “You want a friendship, and that’s it. I need a little time to deal with that.” He shot Kurt a sardonic grin. “So I guess we’ll find out.” 

Kurt watched him leave, his stomach dropping as he did. He let his head fall forward into his hands, elbows on the table. He knew Charlie wasn’t wrong. Kurt had led him on, at least a little. He’d always been clear that he had a boyfriend, but he had been flirting that night. He’d let Charlie flirt with him then and at the coffee shop. Hell, he’d encouraged it. He’d let him think that Blaine didn’t care. He’d given him false hope, and now he was paying the piper. 

He felt his phone buzz and pulled it out, hoping that it would be Charlie telling him that everything was going to be okay. He frowned, a little surprised to see Sam’s name pop up on the screen. The text was a link to an article with the simple message ‘Thought you’d want to see this’. He clicked on the link with an odd sense of foreboding.

** __ ** __

_**Teen Takes Local Titan’s Son to Court  
**_ _July 20, 2013_

_Four years ago, two local high school students were brutally attacked outside of the Westerville High School for attending the Sadie Hawkins dance together. Andrew Lavery and Blaine Anderson were both injured to the point of hospitalization after being beaten by one or more unknown assailants. While the police investigated the matter, there was no definitive evidence, and no arrests were made._

_Though Andrew was unable to recover from his injuries and sadly succumbed in 2009, Blaine has made a miraculous recovery in the last year. Though his ribs were broken, and he suffered a head injury that put him in a coma for three long years, he has recently awoken, surprising medical doctors and his family alike. And though his speech is now hesitant and halting, he still suffers from post-traumatic epilepsy, and there are many gaps in his memory, he is now claiming to know who was responsible for those attacks._

_A group of young men who attended Westerville at the same time as Anderson were arrested in the past few weeks for the attacks. The most notable arrest was that of Max Somerset, son of noted city councilman, James Somerset. The arrest took the community by surprise, to say the least. Max is now a sophomore at Ohio State University studying political science and business. He is active in his fraternity, even achieving a leadership position as an underclassmen. He plays club football and has recently begun to tutor middle school students as a part of his fraternity’s community outreach. _

_“This really took me by surprise,” Max said when I sat down with him in his father’s home after he’d been released from jail on a $5,000 bond. “I knew Blaine in passing when we were in school together. I know that some people were uncomfortable with his lifestyle choices. In a Christian community like ours, that’s hardly surprising. But my friends and I just stayed away from him. I’m sure that what he went through was really traumatic. I hear that the brain damage from an injury like his can be permanent. I can’t imagine having to deal with all of that. Gaps in memory, personality changes. It’s insane.” When asked about the trial, he had this to say: “This is all just a misunderstanding. I don’t know why he remembers things the way he does, but I’m sure the truth will come out in court.”_

_Max is most well-remembered in the area as the star quarterback who led Westerville to a state victory in 2011 during his senior year. His classmates remember him being a leader in the school, taking charge on the football field and on school projects, alike. His father is responsible for several popular policies within the city, and the annual Christmas Village is his pride and joy. Since graduating from high school, Max has interned with his father’s office every summer, helping organize the annual food drive for the local homeless shelter._

_Councilman Somerset, when reached for comment, only had the following to say:_

_“What happened to the Anderson boy was tragic. I feel for him and for his family as they fight through this rough time. I’m sure the recovery has been hard on all of them in ways that I can only imagine. But that does not excuse these baseless accusations being thrown at my son. Max has only ever been a model student, athlete, and role model, and he continues in that vein as he pursues his degree in Columbus. I am disappointed in the Andersons, that they would allow this tragedy to be dragged through the public consciousness again for the sake of a trial that will only serve to acquit my son and his friends. It is my belief that they should allow the police to investigate further, to discover who is truly responsible.”_

_When contacted, the Anderson family declined to comment._

_A source within the police department has confirmed that the arrests were made based on Blaine’s recounting of events. Whether his injuries will prevent him from speaking at the upcoming trial is yet to be seen. The Somerset trial is set to begin on Tuesday, August 13th at the Westerville courthouse. With any luck, the truth will come out, and the community will be able to move on from this grisly crime._

Kurt could feel his blood pressure rising as he read the article praising Blaine’s attacker without so much as giving a vague overview of who Blaine was. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The article was ridiculous. A homophobic piece of garbage painting a literal murderer as a saint. But it gave him the information he needed. August 13th. He had a little time. He stood, tossing his coffee in the garbage as he headed out the door. He needed to talk to Isabelle. He needed time off. He was going home.


	22. August, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you all for the lovely comments on the last chapter. Y'all, as always, are freaking amazing.
> 
> This chapter was insanely difficult to write. I received my law degree from the same place as my medical degree: Google. So I decided to focus more on Blaine's mental and emotional state.
> 
> That said, with everything that's happening right now, this might not be the easiest chapter to read. The trial isn't easy for Blaine. It might be upsetting. Please don't read it unless you're a fan of angst and it won't upset you. Taking care of yourself is far more important than my little story.
> 
> Stay safe, my friends.

Blaine was dressed in a simple suit. Grey shirt, black pants and coat, dark blue tie. His mother had gelled his hair down. It wasn’t as fashionable as when Kurt had done it, but it was better than his first attempt. He hadn’t been able to get his hands to stop shaking. 

He held his stress ball in his lap, squeezing methodically. He’d thought he would be panicking, breathing heavily, needing someone to constantly hold his hand. Instead, he felt nothing but cold. There was a chill in his body that had nothing to do with the AC. Even that couldn’t seem to stop him from sweating. He just hoped he didn’t sweat through his suit. He’d look even more ridiculous then. Badly-gelled hair, ill-fitting suit, sweat stains at his pits. He dug his nails into the stress ball, leaving little crescent-shaped impressions behind. 

He didn’t want to be touched. He didn’t want to talk. A fresh journal was tucked into the pocket of his wheelchair, along with a printed copy of his statement. He was prepared. That’s what his lawyer and his therapist and his speech pathologist had all said. He was perfectly prepared. He wasn’t ready. 

He idly wondered what Kurt was doing. He should have texted him. He knew that, now. He could use his support at the courthouse. He didn’t know how he’d get through this without him. But it didn’t matter. There wasn’t a single thing on the planet that could get him from New York to Columbus in an hour. 

He turned to look at his mom as she stepped into the room, feeling like he was moving through molasses. His body felt weirdly heavy. 

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” she asked quietly, adjusting the cuffs on her blazer. She looked beautiful in a perfectly tailored suit. She’d be the only one accompanying him to the trial. He hadn’t asked any of his friends to come. No one wanted to sit through an hours-long session in court. His dad was nowhere to be found. Blaine thought he was out of town. Again.

He nodded, not trusting his voice. He should ask for coffee. It might warm him up. He didn’t think he’d notice the caffeine jitters with the other fun and new things happening in his body. He could feel his heartbeat in his chest, almost hear it as his mother started to push the wheelchair out the door and down the walk. It should be hot. August was supposed to be hot. So why was he shivering?

He blinked and the ride in the van was over, though he’d been in there nearly an hour. The trial was being held a few counties over from Westerville. Something about juries in the area being potentially biased. His lawyer had been excited when he’d delivered the news, though Blaine hadn’t felt any real relief. It didn’t change what he had to do. 

His mom rolled him down the ramp and he felt the first little thrill of panic slide down his spine. He considered asking his mom to take him back home, to tell everyone he couldn’t do it. He could still hand in his written statement. He could make a smaller difference, but a difference. He took deep breaths, squeezing and releasing the stress ball rhythmically. 

He was wheeled to an elevator in the back of the courthouse and pushed inside. The silence was broken by his mother playing with the strap of her purse. It made an odd clicking noise every time she let it go. The elevator ride lasted twice as long as the trip in the van had, somehow. By the end of it, he could have ripped her leather purse apart with his bare hands. The clicking was driving him insane.

And then they were out. He quickly lost track of the hallways and twists and turns they took, too focused on his stress ball, on his breathing. Before he knew it, he was in a small room, Detective McMillan was standing by a table. He knew the lawyers had taken over, now. He had no idea what she was doing there. Someone might have mentioned it, but his memory wasn’t at its best. He waved a halfhearted hello. 

She waved back with the sort of grin he’d seen a lot of in the hospital when he was trying to walk, and turned to speak to his mother. He tuned them out, though he couldn’t help catching snippets of their conversation. 

“... utterly ridiculous. Aggravated assault, of all things... Voluntary manslaughter? Really?”

“... worried about proving intent. That designation is hard to get, especially when people are so unwilling to entertain the idea...”

“... his father... hard to find a judge willing...”

His fingers felt numb. He stared at them quizzically, bending each one in sequence. Not numb. He could still feel them. Just detached. He looked up, and the detective was in front of him, wearing a worried expression. “Blaine, are you alright?”

He nodded, still slowly moving his fingers in his lap. Such an odd sensation. Attached, but unattached. 

“It won’t be long, alright? Someone will come wheel you in, and then you’re done. You don’t have to stay for the rest of the trial, okay? Not unless you want to.”

He nodded again, wondering absently if anyone had noticed he hadn’t spoken all day. He wondered if he’d lost his voice completely. Maybe he’d get up there and he wouldn’t lose his words, he’d just be completely incapable of speech. 

Now his mother was standing right in front of him, bent over his chair. She messed with his hair, though he was wearing far too much gel for it to go anywhere. 

“I’ll be right there, okay? You’re not alone. As soon as you’re done, we’ll get you home. The judge has been briefed about your... disability. They’re going to allow you to write.”

Blaine felt like all he could do was nod as his mother squeezed his hand. That felt odd, too. Attached. Unattached.

“I love you, Blaine. Be good.”

And then he was alone. 

It was almost a blessing. Almost. His thoughts swirled. He tried to read on his phone, but he couldn’t seem to get his eyes to focus. He tried to play a game, same problem. Eventually, he settled for staring at the wall, listening to the ticking of the clock and trying not to go insane. 

It could have been minutes or hours when a man came into the room and started pushing his chair. He probably said something, but all Blaine could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. Now he could feel the real beginnings of panic. He tried to take deep breaths, clutching desperately at his stress ball.

He was wheeled through a side door into the courtroom. He kept his eyes down as he approached a woman holding a bible. He could feel the hostile eyes of every single person in the room on him, on his wheelchair. He was just some broken kid, making accusations, as far as they were concerned.

He lifted his hand and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. She gestured to the witness stand, but he knew he couldn’t sit up there. It was on top of a shallow step in a little box. On a good day, he could get up there. He and Alex had started working on stairs, recently. Well, stair. But today wasn’t a good day. The assistant parked his chair to the side of the witness stand and shifted to pull a mike in front of his face. 

He cleared his throat as one of the lawyers approached. “State your name for the record.”

“Blaine um-, Blaine Devon Anderson.” He took a couple of shaky breaths. He had to look up. He’d look guilty, unsure of himself if he didn’t. The lawyers had been very clear that he needed to look as though he knew what he was talking about. He forced his eyes up, hoping to meet the lawyer’s. Instead, he found himself face to face with Max Somerset. He was sitting at the defendant’s table. They all were. He knew they’d combined trials. it was partially for his benefit, so he wouldn’t have to give testimony more than once. Still, the shock of seeing them all was brutal. He felt his hands clench in his lap, his breathing went funny. He couldn’t do this. There was no way. His stress ball fell from his lap as he gripped at the handles of his chair, instead, nails digging into the plastic. 

He tore his eyes away from their faces as he tried to focus. Five things he could see. Microphone. Lawyer’s confused expression. Table. Guardrail. Kurt’s eyes. 

He froze. Kurt’s eyes. 

He was right there, sitting in the front row behind the prosecutor’s table. On his right was Blaine’s mother. He could have sworn Kurt had her hand in his. On his left was Sam, trying to shoot Blaine a goofy grin. Alex was seated behind them, giving Blaine a thumbs up. They’d all come. Kurt, Sam, Alex. He hadn’t said a word to any of them about the trial, but they were all here. He swallowed hard and Kurt’s eye for a long moment, breathing. Kurt didn’t look panicked. He looked almost serene, calm. His eyes held nothing but confidence that Blaine could do this. He even managed to send Blaine a pale imitation of a smile. 

To say that seeing Kurt solved all his problems would be a ridiculous lie. But it did give him a grounding point. Whenever the questions were too much, whenever he started to feel himself panic, he would look to Kurt, to those bright blue eyes, and he would breathe. He could do this. Kurt thought he could do this.

Time shattered. 

Some questions came from his lawyer, some from the other. Some he’d practiced, some he hadn’t. He remembered them as moments, jumbled and out of order, frantic chicken scratch writing and far too much speech as he stumbled his way through answers with coping strategies that became harder to reach by the second.

“What was your relationship to the victim?”

“He was my- um, friend. The- the-“ event, gathering, party, “um-, dance was our first- um, date.”

“So he was your boyfriend?”

“No. It was one- um, one date. We were... friends. He was my- my- um, best friend.”

“So, you didn’t see what happened.”

“They went around- um, around the- the corner. They- they dragged him.”

“But at that point, you could no longer see them.”

“I could hear... hear impacts. And screams.”

“Neither of which prove that my defendants were the ones who hurt him. You heard someone hurting Andrew, but you’re not certain who, is that right?”

Blaine felt like he was going to throw up. 

“How has the attack impacted your life?”

He stared at the lawyer like he was insane. 

“Please detail how the attack has affected your life, Blaine.”

“I was in a- a- a-,” frustrated, he grabbed his notebook. “I was in a coma for three years. I’m going to physical therapy to try to walk again. My short-term memory is crap, now.”

“And the difficulties in your speech, are they the result of the attack?”

“Yes.”

“Could the attack have affected your long-term memory, including your memories of that night?”

Blaine stared at him again. “No.”

“You seem very certain of that.”

Blaine scribbled out a note on the page. “You would be, too, if you were- um, reliving it in your dreams every night.”

“So, you and Andrew were at the dance. What happened? I know when I went to school dances, things could get a little inappropriate on the dance floor. Dancing too close, kissing and more than kissing. You wanted a typical experience, right?”

Blaine blanched. “We didn’t- um, do anything- anything inappropriate.”

“Oh?”

Blaine wrote quickly, his hand shaking. “We danced mostly with a group of girls from class. We didn’t even dance together, much. And when we did, we weren’t close. We held hands on the way out of the building. And we kissed. It was my first kiss; it wasn’t anything scandalous.”

“To you,” the lawyer prompted, “but everyone has different levels that they deem appropriate. There’s no way to prove that your kiss wasn’t inappropriate in someone else’s eyes. If you thought it was appropriate, why not kiss in front of the chaperones inside the school? Why wait until you were outside?”

He was definitely going to be sick. His handwriting was becoming hard to read, his hand cramping. “We didn’t wait. It just didn’t happen until then. It was a peck on the lips. That’s all.”

“And if someone had asked you to stop, would you have?”

Blaine had no answer to give. “I- I don’t- We-,” he glanced at Kurt and took a breath. “Probably- um, yes.”

“Probably isn’t certainly, Blaine. Did anyone ask you to stop?”

Blaine didn’t know how to answer that. Max demanding that they stop being gay didn’t count. “I- um, I- They- Yes, he technically did tell us to- to- um, stop.”

“Who?”

“Max.”

“Are your attackers in this room?”

Blaine nodded. 

“Verbal answers, please, Blaine.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know their names?”

“Yes.”

“Please point them out to the court and give us their names.”

Blaine swallowed hard. His hand was shaking as he pointed to each of the boys in turn. 

“Alex Dean.”

“Danny Parker.”

“Pete Bates.”

His voice shook on the last one. All the other boys had been looking down or away guiltily. They hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact. But the last one was looking him straight in the eye, angry and defiant. 

“Max Somerset.”


	23. August, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your comments on the last chapter. I adore each and every one of you for reading and commenting and interacting with me.
> 
> This one is still pretty angsty, but it isn't all dire. 
> 
> Stay safe, stay well, and have a bit of distraction.
> 
> Talk to you all soon.

Kurt stood in front of Blaine’s front door, squeezing the stress ball in his hand slowly, rhythmically. He hadn’t been able to follow Blaine out of the courtroom. He’d needed to stay until the judge had said they were finished for the day, in far more legal terms. Some part of him had needed to hear the rest of the witness testimony, see the rest of the proof they brought forward. Medical records, pictures. Images of Blaine and Andrew the night it had happened. Bruises and blood and pain, images that had sent up audible gasps from the jury. But they hadn’t felt it the way Kurt had. Like an ice-cold hand squeezing around his heart. He took a slow, steady breath, counting to five as he released the little ball. 

He knew Blaine didn’t want him here. He hadn’t even told him about the trial. But here Kurt was, standing on his doorstep. He glanced at the driveway, trying to prove to himself that the van was still there. Blaine was inside. He knew he was. He closed his eyes, squared his shoulders, and knocked.

Pam looked terrible. Her makeup was smeared, mascara streaks on her cheeks. Her eyes were red, her hair falling out of its once-meticulous bun. 

“Where is he?”

He gently pushed the door open a little wider, stepping through into the living room without Pam’s permission. He’d thought she might protest, but she didn’t. She just looked at him, like she was too tired to do much else. “He won’t- He’s not going to let you anywhere near him.”

“If that’s true, I’ll be back out in a moment.”

Pam sniffed and reached into her pocket. “I was going to call the doctor. He needs- I need to get him some help.”

Kurt swallowed hard and reached for her hand, gently pushing the phone down. “Give me a few minutes with him? If it doesn’t work, call the doctor.”

It was a testament to how rough her night must have been that she simply nodded.

Kurt turned away from her and walked toward the bedroom, preparing himself for the worst. From Pam’s reaction, he was expecting screaming, sobbing, the sort of panic attack that made Blaine’s eyes bulge out of his head while he heaved for breath. He was prepared for fury and chaos. He braced himself before opening the door.

Blaine was laying in the fetal position in his bed, facing away from Kurt. He was shivering, the blankets shoved down to the end of the bed. His shoulders were shaking, but he wasn’t making a sound. It was an eerie sight.

“G-go away.” Blaine’s voice was rough, hoarse. Kurt didn’t want to think about why. He didn’t want to hear the echoes of screams in those few shattered syllables. But he forced himself to imagine it, anyway. This was Blaine. And if Blaine was hurting, Kurt was going to be there. 

Kurt shifted, kicking off his shoes and leaving them by the door. It felt almost like their Valentine’s night together. But instead of soft, twinkling fairy lights, there was the harsh overhead lamp. The stuffed bear, Berry, was sitting in the corner, forgotten. There weren’t any roses or balloons. Blaine wasn’t in the sort of pain that could be taken away with a kiss on the forehead and a painkiller. Kurt shrugged out of his button-down until he was in only his undershirt and padded across the room. 

Now that he was closer, he could hear Blaine’s harsh breathing, almost whistling on its way out of his throat. The shaking was worse, though Kurt couldn’t quite tell if it was from cold or sobbing. Still, Blaine didn’t say anything, didn’t turn to look at him. 

Kurt didn’t hesitate. He slipped into the bed beside Blaine, curling around him. He tangled their legs together, Blaine’s cold skin against the fabric of Kurt’s slacks. He wrapped his arm carefully around Blaine’s middle, finding his hand. He pressed the stress ball into it carefully. “I’m here,” he said softly, “I’ve got you.” 

Blaine stiffened, at first. Kurt prepared himself for a fight, for Blaine trying to shove him away, kick him out of the bed. But Blaine didn’t push, he simply lay there, stiff as a board. He was mumbling under his breath in that same, cracked voice. “I- I was- I couldn’t- I- um, I-… I-“

Kurt held him a little closer, heart breaking. Blaine was lost. He couldn’t find the words. His voice was nearly gone. Kurt carefully shifted to pull up the sheet and blanket, softly laying it over Blaine’s side. He lay down again behind him, pulling Blaine flush against his chest. “It’s okay,” he said quietly, his voice as soothing as he could make it. “You don’t have to say anything else, Blaine. You did exactly what you needed to do. You did an amazing job, okay? You were perfect, and now it’s just time to rest.”

Blaine made a couple of soft sounds of protest, and Kurt shook his head, rubbing the skin of Blaine’s arm, trying to warm it. “You’re safe. You’re home. I’m not going anywhere, hon. Just rest. Take a couple of deep breaths for me.” 

Slowly, Blaine relaxed. And as he relaxed, he started to cry. Kurt could feel it, deep, shuddering breaths that shook the entire bed. Still, he didn’t make a sound. Kurt kept speaking, his voice low, little words of encouragement. “That’s just fine. You can cry. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Blaine’s hand found his own, their fingers lacing together on Blaine’s chest, just above his heart. He held on so tightly that Kurt thought his fingers might break, but Kurt’s voice never wavered. He spoke soothingly, keeping up a steady stream of affirmations, cradling Blaine against his chest. 

"You were perfect." "You did a great job." "Don’t worry, you can cry." 

“I’m proud of you.” 

He heard the door open at some point and then softly close. For once, Pam kept her opinions to herself, and Kurt was grateful. They lay like that for some period of time that may have been minutes or hours. Kurt didn’t stop speaking until his voice gave out. Then everything became about touch. Gentle, soft motions of his hands against Blaine’s skin, trying to keep him grounded, let him know that he was okay. 

By the time Kurt finally let himself fall asleep, Blaine’s breathing was deep and even. Peaceful.

When Kurt woke, Blaine was tense in a way that made him think he was already awake. Neither of them had moved all night. They were still curled up, Blaine’s back to Kurt’s chest. Kurt carefully pried his fingers from Blaine’s, wincing at the pins and needles sensation that went all the way up to his elbow. In the middle of the night, in the dark, it had been easy to hold onto Blaine. He’d forgotten about their fight, about everything that had happened between them. Now, in the light of day, things were harder. Kurt’s hand hovered over Blaine’s side before resting against his own hip, itching to touch, but uncertain.

“Are you okay?”

Blaine was quiet. Curled up like this, Kurt couldn’t see his face. 

Kurt closed his eyes, screwing up his courage. He had no idea what he was going to say. He’d played out this moment in his head dozens of times, hundreds. But he’d never imagined anything like this, somehow intimate and distant at the same time.

“I know that you’re mad at me. I know you’re upset. You have every right to be. Beyond every right, really. I screwed up. I monumentally screwed up. I kissed someone else. I missed the chance to come home. But even before that, I was messing up. I missed Skype dates, phone calls. I was- I was sabotaging this. And I don’t even know why. Maybe because some part of me is terrified that this isn’t going to work. I’m scared all the time. I’m terrified of getting a phone call from your mom. Or even worse, that no one will tell me anything and one day, you’re just going to vanish on me. I worry that you won’t be able to move to New York. I don’t know how we’re going to make things work when you come up there to live with me. I’m scared of your medical situation and I’m absolutely freaking terrified of seeing you like those pictures, Blaine. God, those pictures.”He swallowed hard, fighting to control the stinging in his eyes. He blew out a slow breath. 

“So instead of talking to you- instead of doing anything productive with all of that fear and all of that worry, I just sort of… threw myself into anything and everything else. I let my job- jobs- become so important to me that it pushed everything away. Including you. I couldn’t worry if I was focused on Vogue. I couldn’t be afraid when I was making someone an espresso.”

He took a shaky breath. “But I don’t want that anymore, Blaine. Yeah, I’m scared. Of course I am. The world is terrifying. A horrible thing happened to you, something that we’re going to be coping with for the rest of our lives.” He wanted nothing more than to touch Blaine, but he had to get this all out, first. “That’s what I want, Blaine. Everything I’ve done since moving to New York, my goal has always been to bring you to me. I want you right there with me. I want you there when I’m yelling at Jason about somehow managing to wear plaid, stripes, and gingham in the same outfit, without even knowing what gingham is. I want you there with me when I’m picking out a Christmas tree. I want to be with you when you spend your first full day out of the wheelchair, and when your neurologist finally clears you to ride those stupid carnival rides that you love so much. I want to hold you when you have nightmares, and help you breathe after a panic attack. I want you, Blaine. I want the guy who makes me laugh so hard that my cheeks hurt with nothing but a post-it note and a sharpie. I want the guy who melts my heart when he plays a song for me on the piano. I want the guy who manages to memorize every detail of my work life with half a short-term memory.” 

He dared to reach for Blaine, resting his hand very gently on his side. “I-,” he shook his head. “I always thought I’d be facing you when I said this. Somewhere romantic. Maybe our coffee shop. Or on the top of the Empire State building. Or-,” he cut himself off. “But this is perfect. Because we’re not just that sweet, romantic couple. We’re real, Blaine. And while I want all of those sweeping, romantic gestures, I want this even more. Laying in bed next to you, waking up with you. I want it all, Blaine Anderson. Because I-,” he smiled. Even with everything happening, he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Because I love you.”

The words seemed heavy in the quiet of the room. All he could hear was his own heart pounding in his chest. Blaine didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Slowly, the smile on Kurt’s face faded. His stomach started to sink as he realized what was happening. Blaine didn’t feel the same way. How could he, with everything else going on? Kurt swallowed hard, pulling his hand back, trying to figure out how to get out of the situation as gracefully as possible.

He was stopped by a gentle touch to his wrist. 

He stared down at Blaine’s hand as it wrapped around his own, pulling it back around his waist. Kurt settled against Blaine’s back, breathing almost cautiously, like he was afraid to break the moment.

Blaine spoke, and Kurt felt his heart soar again. He could have sworn he heard a smile in his voice.

“Okay.”

It wasn’t ‘I love you, too’. But it was enough.


	24. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Helluva author's note coming, sorry
> 
> Thank you so much for all of the comments on the last installation! Y'all have no idea how appreciated those are, and not just because of motivation.
> 
> One of the comments on the last chapter really got me thinking about this story.
> 
> I've been suffering from some pretty heavy writer's block on this thing, and I think I've finally figured out why. 
> 
> This is not the story I intended to tell. 
> 
> Every chapter has been exactly what I needed it to be and exactly what suited the story. But it wasn't the story I meant to tell, starting out. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), the characters I write had their own sense of where the story should go.
> 
> Since the end of Recovery, I've had this work plotted out, outlined to perfection. I knew exactly where I wanted our boys to end. The working title of the word doc on my computer? 'New York Story'. The epilogue has been in my head since the end of Ghost Story. The only problem?
> 
> This isn't their New York story.
> 
> I've been trying to figure out how, exactly, to get from A to Z without cheapening the narrative by rushing it, and I can't. It's impossible within the frame I've built for myself. Love Story is coming to an end, and it isn't the one I envisioned.
> 
> This story was meant to be a trilogy. I knew it was a trilogy from the second I started Recovery. And yet, there are scenes, entire chapters not only envisioned, but drafted, expanding on their futures.
> 
> So I leave it to you, dear readers. Would you go on one last adventure with me? Would you read one more story? Leave me a comment and let me know
> 
> ** PS: Trigger warning for homophobic slur**

Pam looked in the mirror, gently holding a couple of flyaways in place as she sprayed them down. She straightened her shoulders, examining her makeup, the bun at the base of her skull. Immaculate. She stood, straightening her blouse and slipping into a pair of heels. She was working from home today, but that was no excuse not to look the part. 

Besides, the court was making its decision today. Undoubtedly, there would be reporters knocking on the door, asking for opinions. They’d asked enough questions through the lead-up to the trial. Questions she’d very carefully kept away from Blaine. He was under enough pressure without those animals ripping him apart. She took one last breath in the safety of her bedroom before stepping out to face the day.

The mailbox was at the end of the driveway. Even that short distance was enough to have their nosy neighbor walking out her own front door. Pam smiled in a way intended to wound and waved a single hand, turning on her heel with the mail. She had no intention of entertaining the woman across the street. She glanced down and froze. Right on top of the stack was a letter addressed to their house. Instead of a name, scrawled across the top was one word, scrawled in bright red ink. Her jaw set, her lips pursed, and she forced her head up high as she walked back to the house. 

The hate mail had been a steady stream since the first article had come out about Max’s arrest. People were angry. They didn’t understand why he was being ‘attacked’ for something he’d done years ago. They didn’t understand what Blaine had been through, the trauma of coming forward after so long, the difficulty of facing the men who had hurt him so badly in court. She closed her eyes as she stepped into the kitchen, tossing the mail aside.

She heard a squeak and her head snapped up, eyes blazing, already on edge from the letter. She frowned as she locked eyes with a very frightened pair of baby blues. “Kurt?”

Kurt’s eyes were wide. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was awake, yet.” The egg dripping off of his spatula would have been comical, if it hadn’t been landing on her clean floor.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, glancing pointedly at the clock on the microwave. It was nearly 8:30. Teenagers always seemed to think that any time before noon was early. “What are you doing?”

Kurt gestured to the pan on the stove, clearly trying to regain his footing. “Cooking. I- I know that Blaine likes big breakfasts. I was hoping to tempt him. I know he hasn’t been eating.”

Pam raised an eyebrow. He was right, of course. Blaine had been too nervous to eat for days, nearly a week. He’d managed a bite here or there, but it wasn’t healthy. She’d worried enough about it. “Has he been talking to you, then? I’ve been attempting to get him in to see his psychiatrist, but she’s been quite busy, and I’m not even sure if he’s willing to leave the bed, yet.”

Kurt’s brow furrowed. “He’s been seeing a psychiatrist?”

Pam sighed. She could never keep track of which of his medical particularities Blaine was trying to keep from Kurt. “I take it he hasn’t told you? It’s been a few months, now. She helps, in infuriatingly small ways. I was hoping that she might take the leap to discussing something that’s actually important, given what’s happened.”

Kurt nodded, digesting her words. “We… We haven’t been talking as much, lately. And I haven’t been asking the way I should about what’s been going on with him.” He straightened his shoulders. “Right. Well, it’s good that he has one. I’ve thought he should for a long time, so I’m glad he has someone to talk to. I’ll ask him if he’s willing to get out of bed to talk to her.” 

He never failed to surprise her, really. “You realize that he won’t want you there? He doesn’t even want me sitting in the waiting room. He’s utterly paranoid that I’m somehow going to hear whatever he says.” 

Kurt half-smiled at that. “Considering he hasn’t even told me he’s seeing one, I sincerely doubt he’ll want me there. But I can go home while he has his appointment. Come back after, if he wants me. Or I can take him and drop him off, if you like. There’s bound to be a coffee shop somewhere nearby.”

Pam hummed softly. His face paled, and she followed his gaze down to the pile of mail, the bright red ‘FAGGOT’ on the top envelope. She quickly grabbed the offending letter, shuffling it into the pile of bills and junk mail and the inevitable other hateful notes.

“Is that- Do people send things like that a lot?”

Pam fought the urge to grind her teeth. It wasn’t good for her molars. “More than I’m entirely comfortable with.” She looked up at Kurt. “Don’t tell Blaine. He doesn’t need to know.”

Kurt’s expression was unreadable as he shifted to look back at the pan, stirring the eggs. “I think you’re right. It won’t help him to worry about that constantly when he already has so much on his plate.”

Pam looked at the young man in front of her. She’d always seen him so put together. This morning, he was dressed in simple jeans and a v-neck shirt. His hair was flat instead of styled high. He didn’t look like some performance of a gay stereotype. He looked like he was trying to take care of someone he loved. He looked worried. 

“There’s a tray in that cupboard,” she gestured to show him which one. “He prefers it to the table on wheels. I think it reminds him too much of the hospital.”

Kurt looked up at her, clearly surprised by the suggestion. “Thank you, Mrs. Anderson.” He chewed on his lip, mouth opening and closing several times as though there were something he was trying to say. “I-… Do you mind if I stay?”

Pam smiled, a far more genuine one than she’d used on the neighbor. “I’ll let you know if I can make an appointment for him.” She took the mail with her as she headed down the hall to her office. Perhaps Kurt staying was a good thing. But she wasn’t quite ready to admit it.

The habit of checking in on Blaine was so deeply ingrained that she didn’t even think about it any more. She needed to know if he was panicking, if he’d taken his medication, if he was having some sort of medical problem. She stopped by like clockwork, morning and afternoon. After finishing her work for the day, before dinner, she stopped by his door. She raised her hand to knock and paused. She heard laughter. Blaine’s laughter. 

“I know, I know.” That was Kurt’s voice, high and a little shrill, clearly on the verge of laughing, himself. “No, he really thought that chartreuse was a shade of red or purple or something. He was mixing up chartreuse and magenta, Blaine. What kind of idiot does that? Here I am, asking for a chartreuse scarf, and he comes back with something that’s nearly fuchsia!”

Blaine’s answer was muffled, a bit too quiet for her to hear.

“Sorry, sorry.” That was Kurt again, voice more sober this time. “Want me to get your painkiller? You haven’t had one in a few hours.”

Blaine mumbled something again, and she heard movement. Kurt had been in bed with Blaine again. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. She listened to the sound of a bottle opening, pills shaking, hand moving toward the doorknob. If he was giving Blaine a pain pill too soon after his last, it could mess with the balance of his other medications. She heard Blaine’s voice again, still too soft to make out. 

“No, you’re good. You had the last one around noon, so you’ll be fine. I checked your schedule, we’re in the green.” Silence for a few moments as she considered whether to walk in or leave them alone. “Blaine?” She frowned. “Hey, no, it’s okay. Breathe, Blaine. In and out. Nice and steady.” Pam’s hand rested on the crystal doorknob, her stomach clenching with worry as she heard the sound of someone climbing into the bed. “No, there you go. In and out. Good job, B. Come on, five things you can see.”

Whatever Blaine said made Kurt laugh. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re never going to let that go. But ‘someone who loves me’ is only one thing. Four more.”

Pam pulled her hand back, expression soft. She took a slow breath as she turned away from the door, leaving the boys alone. She didn’t need to worry. For now, Blaine was in good hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS to those of you with an insane eye for detail: Coming to terms with the way that my story is structured means that there are events that are improperly paced in the current timeline. As such, Kurt's show will no longer be in September, but October. This is the way it should have always been structured, but I really thought I'd be moving this along much faster. Whoops.
> 
> I'll be making the appropriate edits so that the September storyline never existed, but please pardon me for switching things up.


	25. Verdict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are beyond amazing. I cannot express how grateful I am for the outpouring of support after the last chapter. With everything going on in the world, it was amazing to see the comments coming through. You guys rock, and I can't believe you're willing to stay with me on this ride. Y'all are seriously awesome, and I adore each and every one of you.
> 
> Y'all managed to make me smile and kick my inspiration into high gear. I have hope that I can finish out this story in the next few weeks, hopefully going back to a pace of two chapters a week. Keep your fingers crossed for me!
> 
> Okay. Back to the story.

“Kurt! I found it!” Rachel turned up the volume on her laptop just in time to hear the voiceover before the commercial break.

“And after a quick word from our sponsors, we’ll be diving into today’s local news, with anchorman Tom Thomspon. Stay tuned!”

“Seriously, get your butt out here, I found it!” 

She shifted on the couch to place the laptop just so on their tiny coffee table. She wanted Kurt to be able to see. She muted the ads as she made the video fill the screen, proud of herself for managing to find live local news from Westerville in New York City, even if it was online.

She heard thumping and a loud curse, looking up to see Kurt limping toward her, holding his laptop delicately in his hands. “The one day you don’t leave your rehearsal bag in front of the front door, you leave it in front of mine. What the hell do you have in there? I might have broken a toe.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Four pairs of tap shoes. Heels and loafers in both nude and black. I have to be prepared, Kurt. Besides, is that really the thanks I get for finding this extremely elusive news program?”

Kurt shot her a look as he moved to the sofa and flopped down onto it. “It’s not that hard to find, Rachel. You googled the name of the studio. The only reason why I couldn’t do it is because I don’t want to mess up the skype session.” 

She caught sight of Blaine on the screen of Kurt’s computer, beanie pulled low over his forehead. He kept chewing on his bottom lip. She wondered if he’d had another medical episode. He looked ill.

“Blaine!” she said brightly, “I didn’t know you were going to be joining us. No wonder Kurt had me find the newscast. Are you watching, too?”

Blaine nodded, gesturing to something behind the camera. “Didn’t want to- um, to find out alone.”

“And we wouldn’t let you,” Kurt said firmly, settling the laptop in his lap. 

Rachel nodded. “Of course not. It’s not every day you find out whether the villains in your life are going to be punished. I, for one, think that we should prepare our victory song for when they inevitably announce long, painful sentences. Winner Takes It All? Mama Mia is a classic, though not a personal favorite. Or maybe Sweet Victory? A bit overplayed, thanks to that ridiculous cartoon. And it might be a bit out of your range, Kurt. You haven’t told me Blaine’s vocal part.”

“Tenor,” Blaine said off-handedly, like he didn’t even realize he was speaking. “Though I’d rather not- um, sing.”

Kurt blinked, looking a little surprised by the information. “Oh. Um, right. Tenor.” He shook his head. “Even if we were planning on an impromptu song, it wouldn’t be one from Spongebob.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Kurt Hummel, how on earth did you not think to ask about his vocal range? What if you were dating a bass? Your voice and his wouldn’t compliment at all. Of course, given his normal speaking voice, I had assumed tenor, but you never know. This is why any suitor seeking to date me has to fill out a questionnaire and submit a vocal audition. Sixteen bar minimum.”

Kurt shook his head. “Rachel, I love you, but please shut up. We’re not singing after they announce the verdict, okay?” He grabbed her arm. “Hurry, turn the volume on. They’re back. Do you have it pulled up, Blaine?”

Rachel missed Blaine’s answer as she turned the speaker volume up, though he must have said yes. She could hear a slight echo as the sound came through Blaine’s connection just a fraction of a second too late. It made the entire affair seem a bit off, out of sync. 

Kurt reached for Rachel’s hand, squeezing tightly. She felt a flutter of nerves, though she knew that it would be good news. No one could want anything less than to put the guys who’d hurt Blaine away for life. She could only imagine his anticipation, the relief he’d feel when it was announced.

“In local news, there’s been a verdict in the trial of Max Somerset, City Councilman James Somerset’s son. Somerset was accused of being involved in the years-old case of a violent attack at a school dance here in Westerville. Somerset was one of four boys accused by the sole survivor of the attack: a young man named Blaine Anderson who claims he was brutally beaten for taking another boy to the annual Sadie Hawkins Dance at Westerville High.”

Images popped up on the screen of Blaine’s school picture from freshman year side by side with a picture of his face on what must have been the night of the incident. The familiar scar was barely closed with bandages, he was covered in bruises, his eyes swollen shut. Rachel gasped, hand moving to cover her mouth. She knew what had happened in the abstract, but it was a very different thing to see it, to still recognize Blaine behind the brutality. She heart Kurt mutter something to the screen, though she was too wrapped up in the news report to pay attention.

“After a week-long trial including expert witnesses and a statement from the victim, the verdict is finally in. Two of the four accused have been charged with involuntary manslaughter, a third-degree felony, and sentenced to three years in prison for the death of Andrew Lavery. Max Somerset and his friend, Pete Bates, were both convicted of aggravated assault, a fourth-degree felony, and will be serving the minimum prison sentence of eighteen months. When Max’s father was approached for comment,” the screen switched to an image of an older politician speaking at a microphone, “he called this a gross miscarriage of justice and heavily implied that the verdict would be appealed as soon as possible.”

Rachel muted her computer as the anchor gave his outro and started a report on a local dog learning how to spell. She took a couple of deep breaths. “I mean, that’s not great. But it’s not terrible, either, right? I mean, they were convicted. Which means that they’re going to have that following them around for the rest of their lives. And three years in prison is a lot.”

She looked at Kurt, who was staring intently at the laptop screen. “She’s right,” he said quietly. “That’s going to follow them around, Blaine. They’re not getting out of it without any consequences. The appeal won’t work. No court is going to let him off any easier.”

Rachel couldn’t see Blaine, with the angle of the laptop. She heard an odd sort of scratching sound and realized that Blaine must be writing his response. His voice surprised her, when he spoke. He sounded broken. Bitter.

“Three years is as long as I was unconscious. The two that beat me up didn’t even get that long. The people- the person responsible for stealing three years of my life got off with half of that time. It’s not even equal. And the guys who killed Andrew only got three years? How- How is that- How can-“ There was a pause, and when Blaine spoke again, his voice was shaky, rough. Rachel swallowed hard when she realized he was crying. “How could they- I can’t even- They broke my- my, um, my- brain, Kurt, I-“ Rachel heard a choked off breath and she turned to Kurt, a little panicked.

Kurt was perfectly calm. He shifted on the sofa, turning so that Blaine would only be able to see him, holding up a hand to keep Rachel from saying anything. “Hey, no,” he said softly. “It’s okay. You have every right to be upset. More than every right. But I need you to breathe with me, okay? In for five and out for five.”

“But I can’t- They didn’t- I-“

Rachel thought her heart might break. She had no idea how Kurt’s eyes were so clear, his voice so steady as he stared intently at the screen.

“I know,” he said gently. “We were hoping for more. We know the DA went after them for more. But we also knew that was a long shot. His dad just has too much power, even a few counties away.”

Rachel was glad she couldn’t see Blaine. The way his breath kept catching made her stomach ache.

“Do you need me to come back? I can hop on a plane right now. I knew I should have stayed a little longer.”

There was silence, the sound of a nose blowing, shaky breathing. Rachel bit her lip and carefully climbed off the sofa. She wasn’t always the best at picking up cues, but Kurt clearly needed a minute to help Blaine. She heard Blaine’s choked-out “No” as she headed to the kitchen, putting on the kettle and half-listening to make sure she didn’t need to order plane tickets. 

“Then breathe with me, okay? In and out for five each. You can do it. I know you can.”

She busied herself with the tea, at least trying to give them the illusion of privacy.

She waited until she heard the laptop click closed to walk back in, a cup of tea in each hand. She handed one to Kurt and sat on the sofa facing him, folding her legs under herself.

“I can’t believe they were so easy on them.” Kurt ran his hand through his hair. Now that Blaine wasn’t looking, she could see the exhaustion creeping in around the edges, hear the frustration in his voice. The transformation was jarring.

Rachel nodded. “I mean, it’s something, at least. They weren’t declared innocent or anything.”

Kurt let out a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. “No. At least there’s that. Though he’s going to appeal it. That eighteen months could turn into a month and then a half a year of probation. Or less. It probably will, knowing who his dad is and how freaking-,” he shook his head, digging his fingers into his hair and grabbing. She’d never seen Kurt deliberately mess up his hair. “Do you know that every article about this only talks about how freaking amazing of a football player Max was? I’ve read everything. Every single thing that’s been written about this trial, and it’s all about how great the boys were at football, how they’re pillars of their local communities. Their scholarships, their wives and accomplishments. There was one piece that did an in-depth profile on each of the guys Blaine accused. You want to know how many articles painted Blaine in a sympathetic light?”

She bit her lip, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

“Three. I printed them out and kept them. And one of them isn’t even good, it’s just neutral. No one’s mentioned the pain that he’s been through, the therapy he’s still dealing with, the fact that he’s likely going to be at least mostly trapped in a chair for the rest of his life. No one cares about his panic attacks or his nightmares or the way that he flinches if you move too quickly near him. Article after article talking about how hard jail time will be for those poor assholes, and not one word for the victim who has to put up with getting freaking hate mail every day. How can anyone see that picture they put up on the screen and not hate all four of them? How?”

Rachel was quiet for a long moment, letting Kurt huff into his tea. Eventually, she reached out and gently touched his hand. He flinched, but she didn’t pull away.

“You care,” she said simply. “They may not, but you do. He has you. And Sam. Have you read his facebook posts all about his new friend? Sam freaking loves him. He has his PT, that guy- what’s his name? Allen? And his parents. He has me and your dad and you. The rest of the world sucks, Kurt. But he has people who care.”

Kurt’s jaw was still set, tension in his shoulders, but his eyes were a little more clear. “It just isn’t fair,” he said quietly. 

“I know,” she said quietly, pulling her hand back to sip her chamomile tea. “None of this is fair. He shouldn’t have ever been hurt. And he certainly shouldn’t be having to go through this just for trying to do the right thing.”

Kurt was quiet for a long moment, staring moodily into his tea. Eventually, he stretched out his shoulders, his expression shifting from anger to determination. “Well, if I can’t make the rest of the world care, then I can build him a world that does.”

Rachel raised her eyebrow. “Do I sense a serenade in the future?”

Kurt snorted. “Someday, you’re going to give up on the thought of a song fixing everything on the planet. But if I can’t sing him better, maybe I can do something else.” He took a breath and reached for his laptop. “I have plans to make.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I was a theater kid in high school and owned two pairs of tap shoes (heels and loafers), two pairs of character shoes (nude and black), ballet slippers, jazz shoes, and jazz boots, any three of which could be found in my rehearsal bag on any given day.


	26. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments on the last chapter. I know it's not the ending everyone was hoping for, but I think it's the ending that fits the best, for that portion of their lives. 
> 
> Without further ado, I present to you: September.
> 
> I think this is going to be exactly what y'all need. 
> 
> Stay safe, my friends.

Kurt looked himself over in the mirror, adjusting the single hair trying to escape its hairspray prison. He straightened his vest and looked over his outfit with a critical eye. Light blue shirt, grey vest, black pants, grey boots, dark blue ascot covered in little, silver gears. He looked impeccable. He nodded, satisfied, and reached for his cologne, applying the smallest amount possible. He wasn’t willing to give Blaine a migraine for the sake of smelling good, even if it was a special occasion.

He took a breath and headed toward the front door, jumping as he heard a whistle from the doorway to the kitchen. He turned around to see Burt standing in the doorway, a dish towel over his shoulder and a plate in his hand. “Hi, Dad.”

“You haven’t looked that fancy in a while, kiddo. Hot date?” 

Kurt nodded. “I sort of put together a surprise for Blaine tonight. I probably should have warned you that I’ll be out late. You don’t mind, do you?” 

Burt shook his head. “You’re an adult. You get to call the shots when it comes to when you go out and when you come home. Though if you’re with Blaine, I wouldn’t expect to be out too late. I know how his parents are. And a heads up is always good so I don’t have to worry.”

Kurt smiled slightly at that. “I promise it won’t be too terribly late. And I’ll shoot you a text when I’m on my way home. His mom and I have talked, she’s good with this.”

Burt hummed with a slight raise of his eyebrow. Then he broke out in a grin. “You look really happy, you know that?”

“I am.” Kurt smiled at his dad, though it fell when he thought about his most recent conversations with Blaine. “He’s been having a really hard month. The trial was rough on him. And the aftermath has been just as bad. Between the verdict and the letter that his mom couldn’t hide fast enough, he’s… he’s not in the best place.”

Burt’s expression darkened at the mention of the letter. Kurt hadn’t told him the details, but he’d called him crying after Blaine had told him about it. He’d been proud of himself for managing to get out to get the mail on his own, and then he’d found another piece of hate mail. 

“Wish I knew who’d written that thing. I’m not much of one for hitting people, but the crap they wrote deserves at least a punctured tire.” 

Kurt couldn’t help but laugh. “Like I’d let you go on some vengeance-fueled vendetta with a box cutter, Dad.” He blew out a breath. “He deserves a lot better than he gets here. I can’t take him to New York, yet. But I can give him the next best thing.”

“The next best thing?”

Kurt grinned as mysteriously as he could. “Absolutely.”

Burt shook his head. “And his folks are really on board with this?” 

Kurt shrugged. “Well, I have no idea how his dad feels about it, but Pam’s on board.”

Burt’s eyebrows crawled toward his nearly nonexistent hairline. “It’s Pam now, huh?”

Kurt flushed. “She’s been… a lot more receptive, lately. I think she’s sort of warmed up to me.”

Burt shot him a knowing glance. “Knew you could do it. You’re just like your mother, you know. That woman could’ve made anyone like her.”

Kurt dropped his eyes at that. “I think… I think she’s just realized that I care about Blaine. That I’m not going to let anything happen to him. All I want in the world is for him to be happy, you know?”

Burt moved to clap Kurt gently on the back. “Blaine’s a good kid. He deserves the chance to have somebody like you in his life.” He squeezed Kurt’s shoulder. “Go on, get. I’m sure he’s been sitting in that chair staring at the door for a half an hour by now.”

Kurt flashed him a smile at the mental image. “You’re probably right.” He gave his dad a quick hug and headed for the door, taking a deep breath. He felt oddly nervous. But he was ready to show Blaine how things could be, someday.

Blaine opened the door from his chair, blinking rapidly when he caught sight of Kurt.

“Wow.”

Kurt laughed. “What? I can’t dress up for my boyfriend?” He slipped into the house, trying to check on Blaine without it being obvious. He was pale, there were dark circles under his eyes. His hair was just barely gelled, the curls showing through. Kurt loved it, though he knew it wasn’t Blaine’s favorite style. The spray gel that his therapist had recommended was a pretty great product, even if Kurt would have chosen one that was slightly higher end. 

Blaine wheeled back to give Kurt a little more room, frowning down at his own outfit. “I just feel a little- um, underdressed?”

Kurt took in his red polo and black skinny jeans, his dress shoes with no socks, the grey bowtie at his throat covered in tiny, silver music notes. They almost matched, at least in neckwear. He looked good. If he’d smile, Kurt knew he’d light up the room. Kurt shook his head. “You’re the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen, and everyone is going to be insanely jealous.” He reached out to gently squeeze Blaine’s upper arm. “Especially with those guns. You keep pushing yourself around like that, and you’re going to have everyone swooning.”

Blaine rolled his eyes in a way that Kurt knew meant he was entertained and a little embarrassed. Still, his eyes were dark, downcast. They didn’t have that spark that Kurt was so used to seeing. Kurt was hoping that he could bring that back, tonight. 

He looked up when he heard a throat clear. Pam’s usually stony expression had softened, the corners of her mouth just barely upturned. Her hair was down, floating around her face, and for the first time, Kurt could see where Blaine got his curls. She looked beautiful, dressed down in a pair of fashionable jeans and a light purple blouse. “Hi, Mrs. Anderson.”

Pam nodded. “Home by midnight,” she said firmly. “Not a second later.”

Blaine turned to look at her, surprise etched into his features. “Midnight? Won’t- um, won’t Dad be mad?”

She looked to her son and shrugged. “He’ll deal with it.” 

Blaine looked back and forth between Kurt and his mother, clearly not quite believing what was happening. 

Kurt stepped in before the silence could be too awkward. “Midnight. Got it. I’ll bring him in. If you just-,”

Pam lifted her hand as though she’d read Kurt’s mind, holding out a set of keys. She’d clearly been prepared. She looked apologetically at Blaine. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’d give them to you, but you know how forgetful you can be.”

Kurt inwardly winced at the implied insult. Blaine didn’t react at all. Kurt sighed quietly, taking the keys and slipping them into his pocket. He needed to keep things light. Positive. “Right. I’ll have him tucked into bed before he can turn into a pumpkin, I promise.”

Pam nodded. “Be safe. His meds are in the pocket of his wheelchair. Don’t let him forget to take them again.”

Blaine shot his mother a warning glance that Kurt didn’t quite understand, and then started to push himself toward the door. “I won’t- um, forget.”

Kurt grabbed the handles of Blaine’s chair to help him navigate the sidewalk to the driveway, unable to catch a glimpse of his expression from this angle. “Want to explain that one?”

Blaine shook his head. “Want to tell me-um, where- um, where we’re going?”

Kurt huffed out a quiet laugh. “Touché. And no, no I don’t. This is a surprise.” He wheeled Blaine to his SUV and parked the chair, locking the wheels as he opened the door to the passenger side. “Okay, think I can help you up?”

Blaine eyed the seat and shook his head. “I- I’ve got it.”

Kurt blinked. “You really don’t have to do that, Blaine, I can help.”

Blaine met Kurt’s eyes and shook his head. “I’ve got it.”

Kurt felt his stomach twist. All he could picture was Blaine falling to the ground, hitting his head, bleeding all over the concrete. But he seemed certain. Kurt didn’t want to doubt him, if he was feeling confident. He took a breath and forced himself to step back, if only a foot or two. He’d be able to catch Blaine if he fell. Hopefully. 

He bounced on his toes as Blaine grabbed the inside handle of the door and hauled himself up with a grunt. It clearly took effort, but once he was up, his legs were barely even shaking. Kurt paused, assessing Blaine’s body language as he grabbed for the handle on the ceiling of the navigator and carefully maneuvered himself into the seat. He was strong. A lot stronger than Kurt had been giving him credit for, lately. Blaine was fully seated and staring at Kurt with an odd expression before Kurt could snap himself out of it. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “Got a little distracted watching you move.” He shot him a grin as he stepped forward to take hold of the door. “Those jeans? Definitely distracting.” He gave Blaine a quick kiss on the cheek and shot him a wink before closing the door and grabbing the wheelchair. Blaine had clearly spent a lot more time standing. For the first time, he let himself consider a world where Blaine wouldn’t be in the chair all the time. A stroll in Central Park. Not having to lean down for a kiss. He wondered what the height difference would be, with Blaine standing fully on his own. He folded the chair and placed it in the back of the Navigator before heading to the driver’s seat. 

The start of the drive was quiet, at least until Kurt pulled onto the interstate. He could practically feel the questions Blaine wasn’t asking radiating off him. Kurt hadn’t grabbed his stress ball from the pocket of the chair, so Blaine was picking at his fingernails. 

Eventually, as he took the exit toward Columbus, Blaine’s curiosity got the better of him. “So.” Blaine’s tone was as casual as could be. “Where are we- um, going?”

Kurt hid a smile, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Kurt,” now he could hear a little anxiety creeping in, “not that I don’t- um, don’t… like surprises, but I’d- I- um, want to know.”

Kurt nodded. He was amazed Blaine had let him get away with not telling him for this long. “Well, do you remember Valentine’s night?”

Blaine’s voice was soft when he answered. “Of course I- um, do.”

“I had grand plans for that night.”

“Grander than- than-… Christmas lights?”

Kurt laughed. “I was going to take you out to a show, have dinner at this little bistro. We were going to listen to a violinist play sappy love songs.”

Blaine tipped his head. “You never told me that.”

Kurt shrugged. “It wasn’t important. And we had a perfect night. I got to curl up in bed with you. That’s better than an Italian bistro any day. It’s even better than a musical!” He shot Blaine a quick grin, then bit his lip. “I know that things have been hard lately. Westerville isn’t exactly treating you the way you deserve to be treated. And I wanted-… Well, I wanted to show you what it can be like. What it feels like in New York. Since I can’t take you there, yet, I thought we’d do the next best thing.”

Kurt couldn’t see Blaine’s expression, but he knew it was stormy. He hated that. He wanted to see Blaine smile again, completely free and happy. He knew it was possible. It just wasn’t possible in the city that had turned its back on him.

“What’s that?” Blaine asked quietly. 

“Columbus,” Kurt said gently, reaching for Blaine’s hand and lacing their fingers over the gear shift. “Dinner, first. And The Book of Mormon’s in town; it’s supposed to be hilarious. We’re going to a super romantic Italian restaurant in the middle of the gayborhood. I looked it up online, and half of the pictures have rainbow flags. We’re going to be safe, tonight, B. Safe to be exactly who we are. Have dinner, see a show. Live one night in a world where it doesn’t matter that we’re two guys, and we can just relax.” 

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand tightly enough that Kurt felt his fingertips going numb. He felt abruptly a little nervous. He hadn’t really considered the thought that Blaine wouldn’t want any of this. “Is that okay? Because if it isn’t, we can totally have Valentine’s night, part two. We can go back to yours, watch a movie, curl up in bed. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Blaine squeezed a little harder. “No.” His voice cracked on that one syllable, and Kurt’s chest ached. “I mean, um, I mean yes. Yes, it’s okay. I want- I want that.”

Kurt nodded, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Good. So do I.”

Hours later, Kurt pulled into Blaine’s driveway, hiding a grin as best he could while Blaine chattered on and on about how brilliant their Elder Price had been, the incredible final number, the dance moves that he kept swearing he was going to make Alex teach him. He’d been humming under his breath or talking Kurt’s ear off for the entire drive home. Kurt put the car in park and turned to face Blaine, unable to help a soft smile spreading over his face. Blaine’s eyes were bright, somehow sparkling even in the dark of the car. He was talking with his hands, imitating one of his favorite bits from the show. He hadn’t forgotten a word in several sentences, and even the pauses he had to take seemed almost natural. He was alive in a way that Kurt hadn’t seen in a long time, since before the trial.

“And then that- that line! Right at the end, when he was singing and they were- they were, um, they were doing the- the Hello reprise! They had to stop the- the- the stringy thingies! All of them! ‘Hello, my name is Elder-‘”

Kurt cut him off with a laugh. “I know, B, I was there,” he said happily. The audience had been laughing too hard for the orchestra to continue the song. It had been amazing. “I never expected a line like that one, not in a million years. And one of us was laughing so loudly that at least three people turned to see who it was.”

Blaine’s cheeks were pink as he beamed at Kurt. “I’m not the one who- who snorted!”

Kurt shook his head, sighing dramatically, though nothing could touch the warmth in his chest from seeing Blaine grin like that. He’d done it. If only for one night, there wasn’t a single trace of sadness in that smile. Kurt squeezed his hand gently. “Come on, Elder Anderson, let’s get you inside before your parents kill me.”

Blaine squeezed back a little harder, waiting until Kurt looked at him. “Thank you,” he said quietly. Kurt was stricken by how beautiful he was. He was the embodiment of optimism, passion, life itself. The scar was barely visible in the streetlight. For a moment, they were just Kurt and Blaine. No wheelchair between them, no seizures or panic attacks. They were just teenagers with the entire world laid at their feet. 

“For what?” Kurt asked, a little breathless. 

“For everything.” Blaine shifted in his seat and leaned forward, cupping Kurt’s jaw. He kissed him gently, sweetly, and Kurt felt his heart skip a beat. He hadn’t realized that was possible, outside of trashy romance novels. He breathed in sharply, leaning into Blaine and cupping his hand with his own. 

He knew that things still weren’t perfect between them. He knew that the next morning, he had to go back to New York and leave Blaine alone. There would be another letter, another headache, another challenge. But in this one moment, life was just as it should be.

They were perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I do it? Did I write fluff? 
> 
> I think I wrote fluff!
> 
> PS: Their experience of The Book of Mormon is based off of my own seeing it on Broadway, where the orchestra literally had to be stopped after a particular line because of laughter. Not posting the line because it's got a spoiler, and I'm a huge believer in not spoiling musicals, but if you ever get the chance, see that show!


	27. Endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all for continuing to interact with me and my story on here. The kudos, the comments, the fact that so many of you are still reading absolutely blow me away.
> 
> Now that we're in the home stretch, I find that some of the chapters are a little shorter. I hope that being a little quicker to bring them out soothes the sting from not quite as many words. But I promise, we're not done with the meat of the story, yet.
> 
> Enjoy!

Kurt smiled down at his phone as he slipped into the elevator after a long day at Vogue, seeing Blaine’s name light up the screen.

**Do you work tnoight?**

“Kurt?” 

Kurt glanced up at the sound of his name, raising an eyebrow as Jason ran toward the elevator. He held the door open button, glancing down again as his phone buzzed.

**Jus t got out of therapy.**

**Impromptu skype date?**

His chest felt warm at the thought of going home, curling up with a cup of tea and Blaine’s adorable face on the screen, and calling it a night. He looked up to see Jason, out of breath and running toward the elevator.

“I know, I know, you’re off. But I need a little help. Which belt? He held a three-inch wide belt in one hand in the most terrible neon orange Kurt had ever seen. In the other, he was holding something electric blue. It didn’t even look like a belt. It might have been a shoelace. Or one of the bags they had at Central Park to let you pick up your dog’s poop. 

Kurt took a breath, blew it out, and shook his head. “Jason, you had all day to come to me for help with fashion. I get off at six. It’s 6:15. I’m in the elevator. Go ask Sarah, she’s working until seven tonight.” He smiled sympathetically at him. “Though, for the record, that color of orange belongs on traffic cones, not models.” He wiggled his fingers in a goodbye wave and hit the button for the ground floor, watching the doors in front of Jason’s bewildered face.

He hated to leave Jason hanging out to dry, but Kurt wasn’t his own, personal fashionista. He had a life. He had someone who needed him. He was learning to say no, even if it did kill him a little inside. He took a deep breath before pulling out his phone and typing out his answer.

_You know it. I’ve got a quick errand to run, then I’ll meet you online. That okay?_

The response was almost immediate.

**Sure. Let me kno wwhen?**

Kurt slipped his phone into his pocket as he left the Vogue building, power walking toward his next stop of the night. First, boundaries with Jason. Now, another sort of boundary. 

He looked up at the sign for Dark Roast and sighed. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. 

Things with Blaine were finally good. They hadn’t talked about everything that had happened the way he knew they should. Between the trial, Blaine trying to recover, and Kurt getting ready for the fashion show, they hadn’t found the time. Blaine was avoiding it. Every time Kurt tried to bring up Charlie or his medical issues or anything serious, Blaine suddenly had to play him a little bit of The Book of Mormon on the piano, or pull up a funny video and try to show it to Kurt through skype. 

He wasn’t pushing. He was trying to let Blaine come to it in time. Kurt knew he needed to make more time for him, if he ever wanted that conversation to happen. 

Kurt was working twelve-hour days at Vogue. He was researching into the night, always available for vendor calls for the show, digging up accessories and shoes to have delivered to the office in preparation. When he wasn’t working at Vogue, he was picking up shifts at the coffee shop, though he was never at his best, and they were always shorter than they were meant to be. He was having to skip out on phone calls with Blaine, missing text conversations. His priorities needed to shift. That started today.

He opened the door and slipped into the coffee shop, smiling at Shelly as he walked up to the counter. “Is Charlie in today?” he asked easily, pulling out his card for the mocha that she was already making.

She rolled her eyes and lifted her hand to make Kurt put his card away. “Please. We all get free coffee.” She nodded toward the back of the shop. “He’s bussing tables. He’s in charge tonight, but we’re a little short-staffed.”

Kurt shook his head as she reached for a mug. “To-go cup, if you don’t mind. Thanks, Shelly, you’re the best!” He grabbed his cup when she was finished and turned toward the back of the shop, spotting Charlie with his bin. He looked as good as ever, grinning as he talked to (or more likely flirted with) a random customer sitting in the back. 

Things between them had been uncomfortable since Kurt had drawn his line in the sand. Charlie had stopped commenting directly about Blaine, but he was always insinuating that Kurt deserved more support than he was getting, that he was working too hard for too little reward. It was uncomfortable. It was childish. And it was time for it to end. 

“Charlie,” he said easily, walking over to meet him. 

Charlie turned, clearly surprised to hear his name. Still, his smile was genuine. “Kurt! You don’t have a shift tonight. What’re you doing here?”

Kurt opened his mouth to blow it off with an easy line about just wanting a cup of coffee, but that wasn’t right. He was telling the truth. He was prioritizing. “I… needed to talk to you, actually.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, setting his bin down. “Okay.” He wiped his hands on his towel and moved to sit, gesturing for Kurt to do the same. “Shoot.”

Kurt pulled out a seat and sat down on the edge, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “I know that you have opinions about my personal life. And I appreciate that you’re doing a lot better about keeping them to yourself. I know that you’ve been trying.”

Charlie nodded, gesturing for Kurt to go on. 

Kurt sighed quietly. “I really am grateful that you’re doing your best, so I want you to know that this isn’t personal.” He looked up, meeting Charlie’s eyes. “I quit.”

Charlie blinked. “You what?”

“I quit,” Kurt said again. “I can’t work here anymore. I love the coffee, and I’m sure I’ll be here all the time, sitting here in my corner, reading up on the day’s news and digging through apartment listings, but I can’t work here anymore.”

“Kurt, I know that we’ve had our differences, but-“

“It’s not about that.” Kurt reached out and gently covered Charlie’s hand with his own, not quite holding it. “It’s not about what happened between us at all. It’s simple math. You know that I’ve been dead on my feet during most of my shifts. I’m always exhausted. Vogue is working me to the bone, and that could lead to a real career in a field I love. I get to work on a real fashion show for them. And I’ve been working on things with Blaine, which means spending a lot of time with him, virtually and otherwise. I’m constantly leaving you to pick up shifts that I’m having to drop because of flying home or working on something for the show. Honestly, I’m amazed you haven’t fired me, yet.”

Charlie huffed out a breath, nodding slowly. “There’s been a few conversations. I keep telling the boss that all of this is temporary. That you’re going to be through with the show by the end of October.”

“Which is true,” Kurt said gently. “But after the show, I’m hoping there’s some other opportunity. And then another, after that. And my need to go home isn’t going to change. Even once Blaine gets up here, I’m still going to need to set time aside to be with him. Or take him home for doctor’s appointments, or to see his family.” He smiled softly at his once (and hopefully future) friend. “I can’t be in three places at once. And I can’t keep trying. I need to prioritize. And, unfortunately, this is what has to give.”

Charlie flipped his hand to gently hold Kurt’s, shaking his head slowly. “You know, we’ll miss you around here. Shelly thinks she can convert you. Start teaching you how to use healing crystals.”

Kurt laughed, squeezing Charlie’s hand once and then pulling away. He didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. “Well, I’ll still be around. And who knows. Maybe, someday, we can hang out as friends again. Maybe you’ll even get to meet Blaine. I just can’t keep trying to be so many different people. I need to focus. I need to be a little more stable. I really hope that you can understand that.”

Charlie nodded, and his expression told Kurt that he knew exactly what this was. Despite what Kurt had said, this was goodbye. At least for now. Kurt would find a different coffee shop. They’d likely never see each other again. 

Charlie stood, tugging Kurt into a hug. “Good luck with everything, Kurt.”

Kurt squeezed him once and then let go, stepping away, putting a deliberate space between them. “Good luck, Charlie.”

He took his coffee and headed for the doors, feeling like a weight had been lifted.

_I’ll be home in twenty. Meet me online? And if you’re wearing Star Wars pajamas again, I’m never going to let you live it down._

**They’re a gif from Sam! I have so man y sets now!**

Kurt shook his head, rolling his eyes fondly as he slipped through the door of the coffee shop, a smile on his face. He might miss the coffee shop, but he’d made his choice, and all he felt was peace.


	28. Proposition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody!
> 
> Inspiration and productivity come in waves. I sat down one day last week and wrote six chapters of this thing. Since Sunday, I've barely been able to edit this one. Don't forget to be kind to yourselves. We're all working through this process together.
> 
> Speaking of togetherness, thank you all so much for the comments, the kudos, the little notes that make me aware that y'all are listening when I type into the void. Y'all are helping me so much more than you know. From the bottom of my frigid, angsty little heart, thank you.
> 
> Stay safe and enjoy!

Blaine took a deep, calming breath, staring at the door to the gym. He was fresh from an appointment with his neurologist. He had wheeled himself into the building on his own, found Alex on his own. He could do this. It was just Alex. He closed his eyes for a second, screwing up his courage. One, little conversation. One question, really. Since when had Alex been intimidating? He squared his shoulders, lifted his hand to knock, and rolled himself into the gym.

“Blaine!” Blaine couldn’t look at Alex’s grin without smiling. He yelped as he was pulled bodily out of his chair and into a bear hug, wrapping his arms around Alex to try to steady himself, though he needn’t have bothered. Alex was holding up most of his weight. He held on tight, hiding his smile away in Alex’s shoulder. He didn’t get hugged a lot by anyone who wasn’t Kurt, so he let himself enjoy it.

“Hi.”

“I’m so freaking proud of you, man!” Alex helped sit him back down in his chair. “You were a rock star. And I mean that.” He knelt to place Blaine’s feet on the rests. “Sam and I were talking after, and we both agree that you were incredible. That took some serious,” he cut himself off, then laughed. “Guts. We’ll go with guts.”

Blaine snorted, shaking his head. “You can say, um, balls. I’m not going to be-,” he wrinkled his nose, but the word came back, “offended.”

“Balls, then,” Alex said with a grin. He pulled up one of the benches, sitting across from Blaine. “Those attorneys were trying to rip you apart and you destroyed them. It was amazing to watch. And, of course, every expert they brought in backed you up. You know, you even had one of the jury members crying?” 

Blaine hadn’t realized he’d had such an effect on the jury. If he had, why hadn’t the punishment been more severe? He swallowed hard, trying not to get distracted. “I didn’t- um, know that, no.”

Alex shook his head. “You did. I thought she was going to get up and try to hug you. Not that I would’ve blamed her.” He looked at Blaine, tipping his head. “It’s been a long time since the trial, though, bud, and I haven’t seen you. Everything okay?”

Blaine felt a little guilty. It had been weeks since he’d been to a physical therapy session. “Took me some time to- um, to be okay after the- the trial.”

Alex hummed. “I bet. That was intense. And not a single panic attack. I bet your shrink threw you a party.”

Blaine shot him a tight-lipped smile. He’d been to see his psychologist every day, for a while. It wasn’t his favorite, but he’d needed the help. He may not have had a panic attack on the stand, but he’d been on shaky ground, ever since. 

Alex seemed to catch that Blaine’s mind was slipping away somewhere else. He ducked to catch Blaine’s eye. “Hey, I mean it. I’m really proud of you, Blaine. I don’t know if I could have gone up there, in your shoes.” 

Blaine wondered if he’d had to testify. A lot of the medical professionals he worked with had been called in. He didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He cleared his throat. “Thanks, um, Alex,” he said quietly. 

Alex nodded. “So, since it’s been so long, have you been doing your exercises? Walking with your walker?”

Blaine nodded. He’d had some pretty bad days, but he’d been trying to get up at least once a day completely on his own. Well, with his walker. “I don’t need- um, Sarah’s help to go to the- to the bathroom anymore.” He still had to have help getting in and out of the shower, but he had a bit of his freedom back.

Alex beamed. “See? Pretty soon, you won’t even need me anymore. We’ll get you a gym membership so you can keep getting stronger, you’ll keep walking around, and you’ll be totally free of the PT monkey on your back.” 

Blaine shook his head, feeling an odd twist in his stomach. He wasn’t sure he could do this on his own. “I’m always gonna- um, need you.”

Alex shook his head. “Nope. As your friend, absolutely. Afraid you’re not going to be able to get rid of me, there. But you’re getting strong enough that we can start cutting back on the number of appointments you need. You’re walking, you’re doing the exercises you need to do.” His grin grew a little wider. “You’re clearly beyond brave enough. I still can’t believe you got up there in front of all of those people.” 

Blaine sighed quietly. He didn’t like the thought of losing this time with Alex. He’d missed a couple of appointments, but he always knew he could come back. And the reminder of taking the stand wasn’t exactly pleasant. “Not that it was- um, worth it.”

“Yeah, I heard the news,” Alex said, expression falling. “I take it you aren’t happy with the verdict?”

Blaine huffed out a bitter-sounding laugh. He didn’t even have to look at his notebook. The words had been burned into his brain. “Involuntary manslaughter for the ones who- who killed Andrew. And Max got- got aggravated assault.”

Alex nodded. “He’ll do some jail time. They all will. That’s something.”

Blaine’s jaw set. “Not enough,” he said quietly. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough for putting Andrew in the ground, for everything that Blaine had been through. He took a breath and shook his head, trying to clear it. “I don’t want- I don’t want to talk about that.” That way lay madness. Or at the very least, another panicked phone call to his therapist.

Alex squeezed Blaine’s shoulder gently. “I completely understand. But it’ll stay with them, Blaine. I know it’s not the solution you wanted, but it’s something. They’ll serve some time. And from now on, the first thing that will pop up when anyone googles their names will be the fact that they were convicted of a hate crime.”

Blaine closed his eyes. People kept wanting to talk to him about this, even after he said no. Kurt kept bringing it up, talking about the bright sides and silver linings. They were both wrong. The first thing that popped up when he googled Max’s name was a sympathetic article about his football career, his volunteer work. It heavily implied that the judge had been incorrect and went into great detail on his plan to appeal. If Blaine was very lucky, they’d lose and Max would at least serve some jail time. But even if they all served time, none of them had been convicted of a hate crime. The DA hadn’t wanted to try. It was too hard to prove intent. What would follow Max around for years was the same charge that someone could get in a drunken bar fight if they gave someone a black eye.

He took a shaky breath and blew it out slowly. Thinking about this wasn’t helpful. He was trying his best not to be bitter, resentful, but it was hard enough without constant reminders. He’d been through hell to testify, and he felt like they’d gotten off with a slap on the wrist. He’d technically won. But it didn’t feel like much of a victory. 

“It’s not enough.”

Alex moved to grab his hand, squeezing gently. Blaine’s expression must have given away more than he’d like. “I’m sorry, Blaine. That it’s not enough. And I’m sorry that there’s nothing I can do to help you with it. You’re right. We should focus on why you’re here.”

Blaine felt his phone buzz in his pocket. That would be Kurt, telling him to have fun at his appointment today. He was always texting, lately. Or calling, or skyping. He seemed to magically know whenever Blaine was going into an appointment and send him something encouraging or sweet. They were having more Skype dates and phone calls than they’d scheduled. 

Even when Kurt was running around like a crazy person getting ready for the show, he managed to find the time to talk to Blaine. He’d heard dozens of stories of Jason’s incompetence, lately, half of them with Jason himself in the background, trying to mount a defense. Blaine had been given an impromptu tour of the Vogue vault during a skype call because Jason hadn’t been able to find a very particular pair of Jimmy Choos. Blaine would never admit that the pair Jason had brought and the ones Kurt wanted looked exactly the same to him. A man had to have his secrets.

Blaine looked up at Alex, calmer now that he was thinking about Kurt. “Actually, there is. Well, maybe not with- um, with that. But you can- can-,” assist, aid, his mental thesaurus was apparently stuck on the first letter of the alphabet, “help.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, and Blaine reached down into the pocket of his chair. He opened his notebook, carefully pulling out a loose sheet of paper. He didn’t hand it over. Not yet. “So, I spoke with my- um,” head doctor, “neurologist today. Had an- an, um, appointment with him before you.” He cleared his throat. “And he didn’t say- um, no.” 

Alex shot him an expectant look, eyebrows raised.

Blaine chewed on his lip, carefully handing the letter to Alex. He almost wished he’d read it aloud, instead. Watching him read was sheer torture. He dug out his stress ball and started squeezing, shifting uncomfortably. 

After what felt like an eternity, Alex looked up, meeting Blaine’s eyes. “And your neurologist said this was okay?

Blaine nodded. “He has- um, conditions. I added them to the- the bottom.”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, I saw that. And your parents are on board?”

Blaine winced. “That’s… That’s the next- um, step.”

Alex smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re trying to use me as ammunition to sway them.” It wasn’t a question.

Blaine tried not to look too hopeful. “I’ll follow all of the- the- um, the rules. And I won’t do anything I’m- I’m not supposed to.”

“And you’d listen to me the whole time? No matter what? Even if you thought it would cause problems?”

Blaine nodded. “Definitely.” He bit his lip, trying not to look too excited. He’d won. He knew he’d won. He just needed Alex to say it out loud. “So?”

Alex sighed and shook his head. “Well, kiddo, I guess we’re going to make this happen.”

Blaine beamed, clapping his hands. “You know, now would be a great time for another- um, another one of those- those-,” he mimed hugging himself.

Alex laughed. “Later, bud. If we want to do this, you have work to do.”

Blaine couldn’t stop grinning. He was ready. “Then let’s get to work.”


	29. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the comments and the kudos. They are the lifeblood that keep me creating in this insanely weird time that we live in. If you've commented regularly for a while now, know that I look forward to hearing your reaction every time (though no pressure to comment, it's just a treat for me!). And if you're new, then know that even a short comment is absolutely thrilling.
> 
> Okay, okay, enough gushing at you.
> 
> I think y'all are gonna like this chapter.
> 
> PS: My knowledge of fashion shows is somehow less than my knowledge of both medical things and legal things. Why I keep writing my characters into situations I have no knowledge of, I'll never know. Forgive me my inaccuracies, or feel free to correct me down below!
> 
> Stay safe. Stay sane.

Kurt was going to throw up. He was going to pass out, and then throw up. No, the other way around. He swallowed hard, straightening his spine and trying to look braver than he felt. This was his show. He had chosen everything from the crystal candle holders in the lobby to the flower bouquets being given to the designers at the end. He had helped choose music, lighting, the order of the show. He had a hand in every single facet of this show. It was his. So why was he so terrified?

He knew what he needed to do. Go backstage, check in with the planner, help the girls into their gowns, terrify the other interns into doing the grunt work, make sure the girls were heading to makeup in a steady stream. They only had a few hours before the guests would arrive. He had a clipboard in his hand, checklist firmly in place. He knew every detail of what needed to happen. And yet, he couldn’t step through the door. 

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and almost dropped his to-do list trying to open the message. 

**I know you’re nervus.**

**But you’re gong to be amazing. **

**Better than amazing.**

**Take a deep breath. You are Kurt Hummel, desing intern extraordinaire!**

**You’ve done an incredible job. You’ve ptu in a lot of work. You’re going to kil this.**

Kurt couldn’t help his smile, warmth spreading through his chest. Somehow, Blaine always managed to say just the right thing at just the right time. He took a slow, steadying breath and looked up. Blaine had faced a room full of people who hated him, four of whom had actually tried to kill him. He had courage in spades, and he was trying to lend Kurt some. Kurt lifted his head, chin held high, and reached for the door, throwing it open.

Chaos. Utter and complete chaos. His eyes went wide as he took in the scene in front of him. “Okay, who the hell thought it would be okay to have uneven bunting on the edges of the runway? Where are we, a bad political rally?” He stormed into the room, immediately feeling at ease directing the resetting of the décor, his phone warm in his pocket.

An hour later, he was kneeling at the feet of a model, pins held between his lips, carefully adjusting the hem of her gown. “Good thing you’re shorter than the girl you’re replacing and not taller,” he mumbled around the straight pins, “or this would be a nightmare.” He leaned back, examining his work with a critical eye. “Perfect.” He grabbed the pins out of his mouth and nodded to the back. “Go see the seamstresses and hurry up. You need to be in makeup in less than half an hour, and I know the insane looks they’re trying to pull off. You better strip fast.”

He looked up to see a young man watching him, a slight grin on his face. 

“Can I help you?” Kurt asked quickly, standing and brushing off his knees. He was going to be covered in little bits of fluff and thread. At this point, he had to simply accept it.

“You’re quite good,” the man said with a nod. He had a light southern accent, dark brown hair, and bright blue eyes.

“Thank you,” Kurt said with a smile. “Though hemming a gown isn’t exactly difficult. I’m Kurt Hummel.” He held out his hand and the man took it, shaking it once, firmly.

“My name’s Chris,” he said simply. 

Kurt nodded, pulling his hand back. “Can I help you with something?”

“Do you have a card?” Chris asked him with a grin, and Kurt felt his stomach sink. He really didn’t want to deal with this today. He put on as kind a smile as he could manage. 

“All due respect, but I have a boyfriend.”

Chris laughed and held up his left hand, a wedding band gleaming dully from his ring finger. “And I have a wife. I just wanted to get the information of the man who did such a fabulous job hemming one of my gowns among the chaos.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide. “Chris McMIllian,” he stuttered. “Oh my God.”

Chris just laughed. “I know you’ve been talking to my assistant. She says you’re brilliant. Thought I’d take a look for myself.”

Kurt blinked rapidly, his head trying to catch up to what was happening. Chris was one of the up and coming featured designers. His gowns were immaculate, his style elegant, with flashes of daring colors and fabrics that always managed to be a refreshing surprise. He’d been a later addition to the show and hadn’t had very many demands. In all the insanity, Kurt hadn’t even had a chance to watch his old shows so that he’d recognize the man. He felt his cheeks heat as he looked to him again, aware he’d just made a massive faux pas. “I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you. I’d blame the stage lights, but unfortunately, we’re backstage.”

Chris waved it off. “No problem,” he said easily, his tone far friendlier than Kurt had expected. He’d assumed all of the designers would be like himself, demanding and just the slightest bit bitchy. This guy seemed more amused by his inability to tell a designer from a stage hand than anything.

Kurt shook his head. “I apologize if I stepped on any toes with the hem. She was drowning in the dress, and I’ve seen the rest of your pieces. I knew the hem wasn’t meant to drag on the ground. When the other model couldn’t make it and she was called in as an alternate, I just wanted to make sure the fit was right.”

Chris hummed. “No sore toes here. You did a good job with it. In fact, it was exactly what I’d come back here to do. I wasn’t planning on the Vogue intern having the balls to fix a designer gown.”

Kurt felt a little thrill shoot through him, though he wasn’t sure if it was pride or fear. At least no one would accuse him of being a coward. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Well, I hope it’s hemmed to your satisfaction, then.” 

Chris tilted his head, almost examining him. “I’m assuming that you don’t have a card, if you’re not willing to give it to me even now.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide and he shook his head. He still wanted his card. Which wasn’t a come-on, he actually wanted it. A designer wanted his card. He wished he had one. “No, no, I don’t. They don’t tend to give interns cards.”

Chris hummed. “Maybe they should, if they’re going to let them take care of the entire show.” Kurt had no comment on that one. “Give my assistant a call sometime next week and give her your contact info. I might just need to borrow your talents again sometime.”

Kurt nodded, speechless, as Chris waved and walked off. That was a designer. A really good designer. An excellent, up-and-coming New York City designer with a design house of his own. He stood there for a solid thirty seconds, possibilities unfolding in his head. And then he forced himself to focus. An hour and a half to the start of the show. Then after, he could go home and freak out on the phone with Blaine. 

Somehow, he ended up with the job of lining the models up and spacing them appropriately on the catwalk. He had no idea how it happened, really, but he wasn’t complaining. His type A personality loved that he had control of one of the tiny details that would make show. He started walking down the line, flipping a few who had gotten confused, sending one back to fix a disastrous hairpiece. 

Backstage was utter insanity. He’d known it would be, but somehow he hadn’t expected this amount of nudity. Or crying. Or spilled coffee. He thrived in it. Solving problems, handing a model a tissue, gently guiding her to the seat of the makeup artist who seemed best equipped to deal with tears. He’d seen more of the female body in the past few hours than he ever wanted to see again, but it didn’t matter. This was his kingdom. 

Still, with everyone lined up and ready to go, waiting for Isabelle to give her welcome speech, his hands were shaking. He took a couple of deep breaths, then pulled his phone out of his pocket, reading through Blaine’s texts. He could do this. He knew he could do this.

A small curtain separated backstage from the catwalk. As Isabelle started to speak, he bit his lip, edging the curtain open just a little so that he could sneak a peek. Isabelle was stunning in a designer gown he’d never seen before. She had the crowd at ease, laughing. The designers were sitting front and center, including Chris. Kurt fought the ridiculous urge to wave. He scanned the crowd, spotting photographers, a few celebrities, reporters. And then he saw it. 

Beanie. 

He knew that beanie.

His eyes went wide as he lost track of it for a moment, someone stepping between them to get to their seat. Then there it was again. Beanie. A little curl peeking out of the front. Warm, amber eyes. A gigantic grin. 

Blaine.

Blaine was in New York City.

Kurt stared for so long that the showrunner had to tap him on the shoulder to remind him that he had a job to do. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, though he didn’t look sorry at all. He couldn’t have wiped the grin off his face if he’d tried. “My boyfriend’s here, I was just- Yeah. Sorry.”

He took one last look, spotting Alex sitting beside him, the two locked in conversation. Kurt had spent the day surrounded by the very best in fashion. Runway models, gowns that could make him cry, jewelry more expensive than his dad’s tire shop. Without a doubt, Blaine was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He turned back to the first model as the speech ended and the music shifted. “Alright, Stacy, you’re up.”

The show passed like a dream. Beautiful gowns, skirts, shirts, pants, some garments he had no names for. Everything from ready-to-wear to avant garde floating past Kurt’s little station, checked off of his list. Each piece was more beautiful than the last, each designer’s collection more extravagant. Each designer walked past him at the end of the show, walking the runway with their models. Chris even took the time to shake Kurt’s hand.

When it was over, Kurt stood for a long moment, watching the crowd start to file out. There was no special thank you from the designers to the intern who had helped make everything happen. The backstage crew wasn’t mentioned. Not even the planner. But Kurt didn’t care. He’d been a part of something incredible, magical. Not one mistake had been made. Not one bead out of place, not one awkward pause between models. He wanted to keep this warm feeling in his chest as long as possible.

When Isabelle walked up, he turned to face her, a smile on his face and tears behind his eyes. She hugged him and he tried to get control of himself. 

“It was perfect,” Isabelle said with a grin. “And I’m not the only one who thought so. Our friendly little show planner has told me that you’re going to be his assistant on whatever we do next. And a designer or two asked about you.”

Kurt swallowed hard, still trying to get the stinging in his eyes to go away. He’d been good at things before. He could sing, his own outfits were incredible, his blog had been good enough to get an internship for Vogue. But for the first time, this didn’t feel like a fight. No one was trying to hold him back. He was appreciated. Even wanted. 

He cleared his throat. “I- I saw- Well, I was either hallucinating or Blaine’s here.”

Isabelle’s smile widened. “Oh, it’s no hallucination. And may I say, you were not honest enough about that boy. Face like that and polite enough to try to get out of his wheelchair to shake my hand? I can tell why you’re smitten. I’m charmed enough I might try to steal him from you.”

Kurt let out a watery laugh and wiped at his eyes. “I can’t believe he’s here. I have to- but I know that I’m supposed to be back here, organize all of the clean-up, getting everything packed to be shipped back.”

Isabelle reached up to ruffle Kurt’s hair, likely leaving it a complete mess. “I made sure Jason’s here. He’s going to help with clearing out backstage. It doesn’t require an eye for detail the way getting ready for the show does. Go get your man. And, for the record, I expect you to be very, very late in the morning.”

Kurt flushed bright red, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. He shot her one last smile, took a deep breath, and then he was running. He flew past designers, models, photographers, celebrities, ignoring them all as he made his way to the handicapped entrance, searching for a flash of that ridiculous beanie. 

He spotted it moving slowly through the crowd ahead of him, weaving through the bartop tables in the lobby. The rest of the world faded away as he ran up to Blaine, out of breath and probably looking a complete mess, tears on his cheeks, hair sticking out every which way. 

“You’re here.” There was so much more to say, but in that moment, Kurt couldn’t get the words out. 

Blaine’s grin was so bright, it rivaled the sun. “I’m here.”

Kurt couldn’t seem to form words. His hands moved, reaching toward Blaine and then aborting the movement, almost afraid that if he touched him, this would all turn out to be a dream. 

Blaine’s smile softened and he started lifting sticky notes off the front of his notebook, pre-written.

‘Yes, I’m really here’

‘No, I didn’t run away from home’. Kurt snorted, then sniffed, amazed as always at how well Blaine knew him. 

‘Don’t worry. Cleared by neurologist, psych, and PT.’

‘And, reluctantly, Mom.’ 

‘Can’t stay long, have to fly back tonight.’ 

Kurt swallowed hard, nodding, overwhelmed by both the information and the fact that Blaine was sitting in front of him, here, in New York City. He met Blaine’s eyes, mouth opening to speak, but unable to say a word.

He didn’t have to. Blaine understood. He watched his boyfriend lock the wheels of his chair, carefully move his feet off the rests, and push. 

Kurt caught his arms as he stood, taking a half a step forward to support him, but Blaine took it further. He stepped into the circle of Kurt’s arms and held on tight. In that moment, the fashion show meant nothing to him. Vogue, designers, the pride he’d felt in his job, it all faded away with Blaine’s warmth pressed against his chest, the knowledge that he’d made it all the way here to support Kurt. He held him close, burying his face in that incredibly unfashionable beanie, feeling at peace. Feeling like he was home.

“I love you.”

“I know.”


	30. Daydreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody!
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and the love left on the last chapter. It seems that some of y'all actually like some happy things! I'm shocked! I'm actually sort of glad of the timing of the happy chapters, given the state of the world.
> 
> Anyway, just a short update for y'all today. We're coming to the end of this story, believe it or not. I hope that you continue to enjoy it.

Blaine’s laptop was open on his desk, his math book in his lap. He had a pen and notebook setup at the perfect angle for taking notes. And yet, all he could do was stare at the blank screen with a dopey grin.

He’d been to New York.

He’d been to New York and seen Kurt’s fashion show, and he knew now that he could do it. He could really do it.

He’d never been on a plane before Saturday. Being wheeled through the airport had been a unique experience. Everyone stared. Pointed. If Alex hadn’t been with him, he wasn’t certain that he could have done it. But once he became accustomed to the stares, the whispers, it wasn’t so bad. Alex checked them in, took care of the luggage, made sure they made it to the proper gate in time. Boarding had been an exercise in frustration. He’d been manhandled from his normal chair to a smaller, far less comfortable one, strapped in like a piece of luggage. The transfer to the seat had been worse. Not that the airline folks hadn’t been great, he just wasn’t used to being transferred by anyone but the select few he lived with. But the flight itself had been incredible. They were in a tiny tin can flying through the air at what seemed a million miles an hour. Sure, it had been a little terrifying, and the drink cart had hit him on the shoulder a lot. Some turbulence halfway through the flight had nearly sent him into a panic attack. His only regret was that he hadn’t been able to sit in the window seat. There were only two seats to their row, and Alex had been indulgent, leaving up the shade and letting Blaine practically climb on top of him to watch the fields flow by underneath them. The sight of the city had taken his breath away. 

But the real gem of the day had been Kurt. Blaine wished they’d had more time. His mom hadn’t been comfortable with him spending the night out of the state, so they’d only been able to go to dinner. After the show, Kurt had climbed into the van Alex had rented and held Blaine’s hand, telling him all about the designers, the outfits, his favorite makeup artists. Blaine knew he should have written most of it down, but he’d been lost in Kurt’s eyes, his excitement. He’d had Alex repeat everything he could remember on the flight back so that he could take notes in his journal for later. 

They’d gone to dinner at some fancy Italian restaurant that had curbside valet. It was a little awkward to get his wheelchair over the curb and up the step into the restaurant, but they’d managed. Blaine didn’t mind having to be lifted and shuffled around. Not when Kurt was right there with him, making him feel so close to normal. They’d had a table to themselves, Alex very kindly sitting on the other side of the restaurant, and they’d sat through three courses and at least an hour afterward. Blaine remembered the warmth of Kurt’s hand on his. He’d glanced around, nervous, but no one in the restaurant even registered them. New York was safe. In New York, no one cared that they were gay.

It had been an absolute dream. The skyscrapers, the people, the buskers that they’d driven past. Yeah, the city was overwhelming, but it was overwhelming in a way that Blaine knew he wanted to experience again. And Kurt had been alive in a way that Blaine had never seen him. He’d been beautiful. So very, very beautiful.

“Blaine.”

Blaine looked up, blinking the image of Kurt’s bright blue eyes lit by candlelight away to focus on his mother. She was looking at him with an expression somewhere between concern and amusement.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes. Are you planning on actually pressing play on that video? Math isn’t going to teach itself, and we both know that it isn’t my strongest subject.”

Blaine cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks flush. “Sorry. Distracted.”

Pam hummed, leaning in a little closer to try to check his eyes. “You’re sure? You’re feeling okay? No dizziness, nausea?”

Blaine sighed quietly. “Not a- um, seizure. Just- just lost in thought.”

She nodded, reaching out to run her fingers through Blaine’s ungelled hair. “I know you don’t always tell me when they happen, Blaine. You need to be honest with me.”

Blaine sighed, trying not to feel annoyed with her. He understood. He’d been trying to be a little better about telling her when he lost a few moments or when he wasn’t feeling well. Which meant that she assumed everything was getting worse, when it was actually getting better. “I am.” He pulled away from her touch, turning back to his math work. “Not a seizure.”

There was silence between them for a few moments. 

“Did you have a nice time?”

He glanced back up at her, eyebrow lifted. She looked genuinely curious, if a little uncomfortable. He let himself break out into a smile, nodding. “It was- um, amazing. Kurt’s show was- was the best. And I-,” he reached for her hand, only missing by an inch or two. “I really loved the city.”

Pam nodded, settling Blaine’s hand on hers. There was a sort of sadness in her eyes that he didn’t understand, but he didn’t pull away when she started playing with his hair again. “Alex says you did really well. Not a missed pill, nothing went horribly wrong. He said your breathing exercises worked, the few times that you were overwhelmed. He was very complimentary of you.”

Blaine grinned. “He’s my, um-,” partner in crime, “friend,” he said happily. 

“He was also very complimentary of Kurt. Said that he insisted on pushing your wheelchair, helping you in and out when you needed it, asking if the restaurant had accessible bathrooms.”

Blaine blinked. He remembered parts of that. Kurt had been right beside his wheelchair the whole time. He hadn’t seemed to mind taking the longer route out of the show to take the ramp in the back. He’d helped Alex lift him over the curb. He sort of remembered him talking to the host at the restaurant, but he couldn’t recall any talk about bathrooms. He shrugged. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

Pam sat on the edge of Blaine’s desk, shifting to hold his hand in both of her own. “I’m glad that you did so well, Blaine. I’m proud of you.”

Blaine beamed. He didn’t get to hear that much. “Thanks, Mom,” he said softly.

Pam nodded and squeezed his hands a little more tightly. He knew his mother well. There was more that she wanted to say. He couldn’t quite read her expression. He almost asked, but she spoke before he had the chance. “Finish up your math, sweetheart. I’ll come in to quiz you for your history test in about a half an hour. And Sam called earlier, he wants to hear all about New York. Mind if he comes by?”

Blaine smiled, nodding. “I’d like to see- um,” why was this name so hard for him? He’d been hanging out with him for months, and he still had to glance to the stupid sticky on the side of his computer, “Sam.”

Pam ran her hand through Blaine’s hair one more time before standing to leave. “Alright, I’ll give him a call back. Be good.” 

Blaine stared at the door for a long moment. Pam hadn’t been that affectionate in a long time. Maybe she’d just missed him. He didn’t dwell on it, instead turning back to the laptop and playing the video. Still, the quadratic equation couldn’t hold his attention. 

He sighed, letting his mind wander back to Kurt in his tight black pants and grey vest, little bits of thread stuck to his knees, the tears in his eyes when he’d stopped running in front of his chair. He could almost hear his voice, feel the warmth of his arms when he’d stood.

In the corner of his notebook, he doodled little hearts and Kurt’s name, the smile never leaving his face.


	31. Atypical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all for reading my little story. Your comments absolutely make my day. 
> 
> I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter out. These last few chapters have been tricky to get right. And in the right order. I keep scrambling and re-scrambling them, trying to make everything just right, but I think this is where it belongs.
> 
> Anyway, thank you again. Stay safe, and enjoy.

Kurt laughed, curling up in bed around his tea, looking to Blaine’s face on the laptop screen piled high on a precarious stack of pillows. “You really can’t keep lying to your mom about being bad at math to make her feel better, B,” he teased lightly. “She’s going to be absolutely devastated when she tries to help you study and you do better on the review than she does. You’ve improved so much, don’t hide it.”

Blaine made a face. “But she’s so- um, excited about learning with me!”

Kurt laughed, shaking his head. “I think it’s sweet, honestly. You and your mom studying together. And I love that you’re getting to spend more time together.” 

He watched Blaine’s nose wrinkle when he grinned and felt his heart twinge. Things had been so much better since they’d been talking more often, but he couldn’t help daydreaming about when Blaine would be here permanently. “So, I did have something I wanted to talk to you about.” He cleared his throat. “I know it’s been a while, but after your visit, I decided to start looking again. So I… I’ve found a couple of contenders. Apartments that might work. Totally accessible, no stairs, counters low enough you wouldn’t have to get up, safety bars in the bathrooms,” he trailed off as he looked up at Blaine, whose expression was unreadable. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to fight me on the accessibility thing again. I know that you’re improving, but it would be so much better to have it and not need it than need it and not-“

“Stop.”

Kurt immediately stopped, stomach clenching. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Still too soon. I get it.” They hadn’t talked much about the future since his missed visit home, months ago. Kurt knew that Blaine was still healing, but he missed making plans. Since Blaine’s trip to New York, it was all he could think about.

Blaine was quiet for a long time, not looking at the screen. Kurt was almost afraid it had frozen. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed. 

“Blaine, I-“

“How’s Charlie?”

Kurt blinked. “Charlie,” he echoed quietly.

Blaine nodded. “You didn’t- um, didn’t show me the- the coffee shop when I was there. Thought we might- um, go so I could meet-… meet your friends.”

Kurt nodded slowly. “I- I actually quit the coffee shop. A while back. Between getting ready for the show and the editing stuff I was still working on and making sure I had time for us, I just… Something had to go.”

Blaine looked up at him. “And he was that- um, something?”

“The coffee shop was that something,” Kurt corrected quietly. “But I talked to Charlie. He-,” he sighed quietly, running a hand over his face. “There are a lot of things I wish I’d done better. Talking to you about him, for one. I still can’t believe I did that. I want you to know that it was never intentional. I wasn’t hiding him. I just wanted to keep him and you separate. I wanted-… I wanted a friend I could be totally candid with who didn’t know our entire history, or how complicated our lives are.” He glanced up at Blaine. “It was selfish and stupid, and I should never have kept him from you. Or kept the things from him that I did.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t know about- about me?”

Kurt shook his head. “He knew I had a boyfriend. I talked about you all the time.” He huffed out a breath. “I didn’t tell him everything. I mean, it wasn’t his business. Not everyone needs to know what you’ve been through. But I never told him why you weren’t visiting. He got it in his head that you were this asshole boyfriend who never wanted to come to see me and kept making me do all the work. I talked to him about apartment hunting, and how I was saving up money, and he’d get all offended on my behalf that you wouldn’t be helping me pay.” He saw Blaine wince and immediately held out his hand. “No. No, Blaine, don’t think that way. He didn’t have all of the information. If he had, he would never have said something like that. Your full-time job right now is getting better, and you work harder than anyone I know.” He sighed, frustrated by his inability to articulate what he needed to say. “I guess I just- I wanted a friend that was completely separate from everything you and I were going through. I wanted-,” he cut himself off, looking at the screen helplessly.

“To be- um, normal,” Blaine said softly. 

Kurt watched him carefully, but he couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. He did want to be normal. He wanted to have one friendship that wasn’t centered around hospitals and doctors and court dates. “Like I said, it was really selfish. I know that. It wasn’t fair to either one of you.”

Blaine was quiet for long enough that Kurt worried they’d lost their connection. He could only tell that Blaine was still live when he moved to take a drink of water, both hands wrapped carefully around his glass.

“I missed my- um, my-… my meds. The day you didn’t- um, show up.” Blaine set his glass aside and reached for his stress ball. Kurt made a mental note to replace it. It was getting dingy, wasn’t springing back the way it used to.

“You never told me that.”

“When you called to- to explain, I was in… in the- the hospital.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide and he moved toward the screen like he could reach through it, touch Blaine’s hand, make sure he was okay. It had been months, of course he was okay, but the instinct was still there. “You- I thought you said you’d tell me if you ever ended up there. Were you okay? Did I cause a panic attack? I’m so, so sorry, Blaine, I never meant-“

“Missed my seizure meds and- um, and had a bad one.”

Kurt swallowed hard, his heart in his throat. He’d given Blaine a seizure. He’d been the reason he missed his meds. He’d been the reason he hadn’t taken care of himself. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headboard. “I’m so sorry.” It was all he could possibly say for himself. It wasn’t close to enough. “I didn’t know you were going to be at the airport. But that’s no excuse. I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t.”

Blaine was quiet, but Kurt could hear the sound of his pen scratching away at paper. He kept his eyes closed, focusing on his breathing. His chest ached. He’d hurt Blaine. Badly. He’d put him back in the hospital. How had he not known? How had he not noticed that Blaine had been off that day? He opened his eyes when the sounds of writing stopped, looking at the screen.

“It really hurt me,” Blaine said quietly. His voice was steady. Kurt checked his hands. He was squeezing the stress ball again, but not in the frantic way he did when he was starting to panic. This was hard for him, but he’d be alright. He was so much stronger than he knew. Kurt focused on Blaine’s face again, wanting to really hear what he was saying. “Not just because you kissed somebody else, but because you didn’t come see me the next day. You went out drinking instead of coming home to me. And it hurt. I had a lot of doubts, after that. That you didn’t really want to be with me.”

“Blaine, I-“

Blaine just looked at him, raising his eyebrow. Kurt swallowed and nodded. No interrupting. He had to wait until Blaine had said his piece.

“That you wanted someone more like him, who could be what you really want. Who wouldn’t be calling you from a hospital after one missed pill. Who can walk and talk without writing things down and help pay for an apartment with you. Who could be normal.” 

Kurt’s heart ached in his chest. He was really starting to hate that word. He didn’t care about normal. He just wanted Blaine.

“But, you came to the trial. You’ve really tried, the past few weeks. You’re calling and texting and we’re talking like this. You were even planning a trip right after your show to come tell me all about it. I-… I can’t give you normal. I don’t know if that will ever be possible. But I forgive you for what happened with Charlie. And if-… if you’re not stuck on having what everybody else has, then I still want this. Us.” 

Kurt took a shaky breath, wanting nothing more than to hold Blaine’s hand. He tried to catch Blaine’s eye, but he was still staring down at the paper. “I was being an idiot, Blaine. And I don’t want that. I don’t want some boring, typical guy who assumes the worst of everyone around him. You know what that thing everybody else has is? It’s boring. And you and me, we’re anything but boring.” He waited until Blaine looked up. His eyes were wet. “I want you. I want to see the way your eyes light up when we see our first Broadway show. I want to push you in your chair around Central Park. You know what’s not normal? The way you made me feel when you took a two-hour flight one way to come see my show, just to turn around and have to do the same thing in reverse. You aren’t normal, Blaine. You’re extraordinary. And I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I’ll take a hospital visit every day for the rest of my life, if it means I get to keep you.”

Blaine sniffed and smiled. He didn’t say a word, and he didn’t have to. Kurt understood. They may never be a typical couple, they were different. Special. Kurt wiped at his own eyes, shaking his head. 

“If you don’t hurry up and move here so I can kiss you after conversations like this, I’m going to go nuts.”

Blaine snorted, wiping at his face and then grinning at Kurt. “Well, then, I guess, um, you should show me those- those-,” he rolled his eyes and waved his hand, “living box thingies.”

And just like that, Kurt was laughing, the tension broken between them. He felt settled in a way that he hadn’t since he’d woken up, hungover and heartbroken. He nodded, pulling up his phone. “Virtual tour of a living box thingy, coming right up.”


	32. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everybody!
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments, kudos, and general awesomeness on the last chapter.
> 
> It's been a struggle trying to get these last few chapters pulled together in a way I think will be satisfying for y'all. I can only hope that it is! This chapter in particular was a beast to get through, and I'm still not sure I'm happy. But I can't keep letting perfect be the enemy of good, so here y'all go!
> 
> No worries, the next chapter is written and I'm actually thrilled with it, so it will go up soon. And with only 3 chapters left, this story may well be finished in the next couple of weeks!

Blaine cleared his throat quietly in the silence of the room. He straightened his blazer, though he needn’t have bothered. He was still sitting in his chair, it wasn’t like anyone could see. He reached for his water, lifting it carefully with both hands to take a drink. He couldn’t afford to break a glass today. Between the nerves and a mostly sleepless night, his hands weren’t cooperating as well as they usually did. It was fine, he just needed to be careful. He looked up at Kurt and shot him a tense smile, fighting the urge to start fidgeting as he set the water back onto the table. 

Kurt looked almost serene, in contrast. Blaine had no idea how he could look so comfortable when Blaine could feel the tension like a fog hanging over the table. He was beautiful. Hair perfectly coiffed, wearing some sort of fabulous, asymmetrically-cut sweater thing that somehow managed to be chic and a little tantalizing at the same time. He looked gorgeous. And very much himself. Different and proud and perfect.

Blaine glanced to his father, a little nervous at what he was going to see. John was dressed in a no-nonsense grey suit, complete with a burgundy tie. He sat at the head of the table with a glass of wine and a sour expression. He hadn’t said a word in almost five minutes. None of them had. 

The table was beautifully set. His mother’s good china, cloth napkins, the serving dishes with their gold trim. They were in the formal dining room, the only room of the house that was never used except on holidays. The table was too big, far too long, his mother on one end and father on the other. Kurt sat across from Blaine, just out of his reach. Blaine fidgeted with his napkin underneath the table, missing his stress ball. That had been John’s request. He hadn’t wanted the distraction at the table. 

“The potatoes are amazing, Mrs. Anderson,” Kurt said into the awkward silence, seeming to not notice that he was breaking some unspoken rule. 

“Old family recipe,” Pam replied, trying for the same light tone and falling a bit short. Blaine could tell she was worried. She looked gorgeous, dressed in a deep maroon dress, her hair pulled back in a complicated knot at the base of her skull. She sipped at her own glass of wine and took a bite of turkey. 

Blaine hadn’t been able to make himself eat much. He was too busy trying to figure out how to get out of here as quickly as possible. Family holidays were never exactly comfortable, but this was borderline torture. He glanced up and shot Kurt a sheepish smile when he was caught worrying instead of eating. 

“They really are delicious, Blaine, you should at least try them,” Kurt said softly.

Blaine winced, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry. Getting- um, a little lost in my- my head.” He picked up his fork and grabbed a bite of potato, popping it into his mouth with a grin. 

Kurt laughed, shaking his head. “Um, you have a bit of potato, just-,” he tried to indicate where on his own mouth. “I can get it, if you want.” He started to shift over the table when Blaine heard John clear his throat. Blaine quickly grabbed his napkin out of his lap and wiped his whole mouth, not wanting to miss and remind his dad that he still wasn’t normal.

“So, how do your parents feel about sharing you for what’s meant to be a family holiday?” John’s voice was friendly enough, but Blaine could hear the implication beneath it. If it was a family holiday, Kurt should be with his family, not Blaine’s.

“They’re happy to split it,” Kurt said easily as he settled back in his chair, laying his napkin back over his lap. “I’m kidnapping Blaine to have dinner with my family when we’re done here. Fifty-fifty split. Good thing we have different traditions.”

“We’ve always done- um, done-,” Blaine closed his eyes for a moment, feeling John’s eyes on him, “um, lunch.” 

Pam looked to John, sipping at her wine. “There’s no need for Blaine to stick around while our friends are here tonight, John. He doesn’t need to listen to your business buddies chatting about the stock market.” 

Not to mention, Blaine had asked not to be there. Begged, actually. He knew that he’d be the oddity on display. They’d want to discuss his recovery, see how well his speech was developing, ask him to stand up for them, maybe. They’d speak around the trial, careful not to piss off anyone who might be a friend of the Somersets. He’d receive a constant stream of ‘you’re so brave’ and ‘oh, look, he can wheel around on his own!’ and ‘dear, we don’t want to give you an episode’. He’d nearly had a panic attack when his mother had told him that the annual party would still be happening. She’d barely put up a fight about him going to Kurt’s. 

“It’s a tradition, Pam. We’ve always had our party, and Blaine has always been there. Several of my colleagues bring their kids, it’s not like he’d be alone.”

Pam hummed. “Yes, well, he hasn’t attended in three years, dear. He’d far rather be with his own friend.”

Blaine closed his eyes, trying not to wince at the phrasing. His mother knew better, but she was trying to placate John. “Dad, please,” he said quietly. “Kurt and his- his, um, his family know about- about my-,” he huffed, frustrated. He didn’t have his notebook. Another distraction at the dinner table. “Me,” he finished lamely, gesturing to the chair with him in it. Kurt and his family knew how to deal with him. His speech wouldn’t annoy anyone. Burt and Carole would never try to talk to him about the trial. He’d be safe to relax, there.

“Everyone knows what you’ve been through, Blaine. No one is going to expect you to be at your best. It’s rude not to have you there. They all just want to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m not- not entertainment for your-um, your guests.” Blaine looked up to meet his dad’s eyes, not willing to back down.

“My dad’s thrilled to have him,” Kurt said cheerfully, clearly trying to pull things back to an even keel. “Carole’s been baking up a storm, with my help, of course. We’re all really excited.”

“And we’re thrilled that you invited him,” Pam said graciously. She glanced to John. “We can fill them in on Blaine’s condition without him being right there, John. There’s no need to put him in a position where he might be upset.”

“I’m right- um, here,” Blaine said with a huff. “I’m not- I’m not just a kid, anymore. I can- I can choose.” He straightened his spine. “I’m going to- to- to Kurt’s.”

John’s jaw set as he looked between Blaine and Pam. “I’m not suggesting that we upset him, Pam, I am suggesting that he have a night at home with his family on Thanksgiving. But it’s clear that you two have already discussed this, and I have yet again been cut out of the conversation.”

Blaine cleared his throat and reached for his fork, managing to take a bite of cranberry sauce and a bit of stuffing. There was a silent conversation happening between his parents, unwilling to fight in front of company, but no longer putting on a good face for Kurt. It was intense, uncomfortable. 

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence, with Kurt complimenting everything from the décor to the food to Pam’s dress and trying to keep things as comfortable as he could. Blaine tried to help, but his speech was a mess. He couldn’t remember his words, and without his notebook, he was useless. They bowed out before desserts, Blaine claiming that he couldn’t eat another bite, and then they were finally free. 

“I’m sorry about- um, them,” Blaine said for about the millionth time, seated in the passenger side of Kurt’s car.

“Don’t be,” Kurt said simply. “It’s their first Thanksgiving with your boyfriend. Of course things were awkward.”

Blaine huffed out a breath, playing with his stress ball in his lap. Kurt had insisted on letting him dress down before they left his house. He claimed that Thanksgiving was just a more casual affair for them, but Blaine knew it was because he couldn’t stop picking at his blazer. He’d also insisted on Blaine having his notebook and his stress ball. Blaine squeezed the ball gently between his fingers.

“You’re sure they won’t mind me- me fidgeting? I can- I mean, I don’t want to be- um, rude.”

Kurt shook his head. “Not a chance. I’m pretty sure Carole is physically incapable of thinking you’re rude. Don’t worry about it, Blaine. You’re perfect.” He pulled into the driveway and kissed Blaine’s cheek, grinning. “Relax. For us, Thanksgiving is a normal meal that just ends in lots of pie. You’re going to be just fine.” 

Blaine couldn’t relax. He’d already been through one uncomfortably stiff meal. The thought of possibly repeating the process was making him nauseous. He held his breath as he was wheeled toward Kurt’s front door. He knew that Burt and Carole weren’t like his own parents, but he couldn’t help his nerves. They rolled through the door without knocking, and immediately, Blaine was hit with the sound of people laughing, the smells of baking. It was overwhelming.

“Blaine!” Carole said brightly as she poked her head out of the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a nice blouse, a kitchen towel thrown over her shoulder. She walked right over to him and hugged him, somehow managing to make it feel natural instead of awkward. “Oh, you have no idea how excited we were when Kurt said you’d be able to join us this year. We’d worried that your parents wouldn’t let you.”

“Blaine! Kurt!” Burt pushed slightly past Carole to hug his son, then moved to clap Blaine on the shoulder. 

“Why is your name always first, I wonder?” Kurt teased lightly. “I think my parents might like you better than me.”

“Damn right,” Burt said with a grin and a wink in Kurt’s direction, hand still on Blaine’s shoulder. “We’re gonna need both your help in the kitchen. Finn was chopping veggies earlier and had a little slip up with the knife.”

Blaine’s eyes went wide, but Carole patted his hand. “He’s perfectly fine. Didn’t even need stitches. But he’s now pouting and playing Call of Duty.”

Kurt snorted and rolled his eyes, then grabbed the handles of Blaine’s chair. “Well, I’m excellent at meal prep. We’ll be just fine. And we won’t have to eat a bunch of pieces of onion that look like they were chopped by an epileptic three-year-old.”

Blaine snorted at Kurt’s comment, not sure how to react to the wave of affection, the noise. Luckily, everyone seemed perfectly content with him not saying anything at all. Kurt wheeled him into the kitchen and parked him at the table, where he had a full view of everything. Carole returned to the kitchen counter while Kurt grabbed a cutting board. Burt squeezed Blaine’s shoulder again on the way to the back door, where he was clearly cooking something, given the tongs. Blaine just watched it all with wide eyes, not quite sure how to interact with any of it.

“Bit of a treat for all of us,” Carole said with a wink in Blaine’s direction. “Burt managed to convince Kurt that since you were coming, and you would’ve already had baked turkey for lunch, we should fry one.”

Kurt shook his head. “If he thinks he’s eating anything but salad for the next three days, he has another thing coming.”

Blaine swallowed hard. This was chaos. Burt kept coming in the back door, always managing to give Kurt a half hug or kiss Carole on the cheek. Kurt was moving gracefully through the kitchen, spinning out of the way of oven doors and grabbing things from cabinets right above Carole’s head without hitting her. Carole was humming to herself as she stirred something on the stove, harmonizing badly with the radio playing Christmas music on the counter. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He just wished he could be a part of it.

“Hey,” Kurt said quietly, grinning at him as he set down a bowl full of something white and sweet-smelling. “You okay?”

Blaine nodded. “Just… different. Good different.”

Kurt grinned. “I thought so. But if you think being in a wheelchair means you get out of kitchen duties, you are very, very wrong.” He handed Blaine a spoon. “Stir. And keep stirring. Divinity is tricky.” He shot Blaine a wink and sat across from him, chatting easily with Carole as he started expertly chopping veggies. 

Blaine couldn’t help his smile. He wanted to be included. Now he could be. He started to stir, glad to have something to focus on as he relaxed into the rhythm of the family that made him feel so much like one of their own.

The meal was as different from the meal at his own house as cooking had been. Finn shoveled food in his mouth with an intensity Blaine had never seen before. Burt sat at the head of the table, but it didn’t really matter. The table itself was small, close, tucked in the breakfast nook. Everyone had to get up to serve themselves seconds from the counter (other than Blaine, whose food was piled on by Burt himself). The conversation was easy, free-flowing, warm. Kurt was still dressed to the nines, but Finn was in basketball shorts. They ate on Styrofoam plates (to make dishes easier) and drank from plastic cups (same reason). No one freaked out when he forgot a word or needed to write a sentence in his notebook. The only comment anyone made about his stress ball was when Finn stole it because it looked fun to throw. He’d never been so comfortable at a family meal.

When the third round of dessert was finally over (Finn may have eaten an entire pie by himself), Kurt rolled him out to the back patio. It was chilly, but Kurt had tucked a blanket in around him, and he was warm. They sat side by side, Kurt in a patio chair, him in his wheelchair, their hands laced between them. It was quiet. All he could hear was the chirping of crickets as the last of the sunlight faded from the sky. After the cacophony indoors, it was refreshing. No matter how much he’d enjoyed it, ending the day with a quiet moment was just what he needed. He suspected Kurt knew as much.

“Sorry about all of the noise. I know it’s a bit of a culture shock,” Kurt said quietly, running his thumb over Blaine’s. “I tried to get them to tone it down for you, but Carole said that if you wanted to be part of the family, you were going to have to get used to it eventually.”

Blaine swallowed and looked at Kurt. Part of the family. That’s exactly how he felt. Despite the fact that he was still damaged, still a mess, this family wanted him. He shook his head. “Never apologize for- um, for them,” he said softly. He squeezed Kurt’s fingers. “They’re amazing. This was-,” amazing, fantastic, “incredible.”

Kurt grinned at him. “Well, I’m glad you feel that way. I wanted you to. I want you to feel safe here, Blaine. They love you.” He flushed a little, his face painted in the warm light from the bulb above their heads. “And I love you.”

Blaine looked at Kurt, his chest aching with something he didn’t quite know how to contain, his heart overflowing. Maybe Blaine wasn’t better, maybe there were still issues they needed to work out, but he had never felt so happy as he did in that moment. He smiled, eyes soft. “I know.” He bit his lip, then took a breath. “And I- I love you, um, too.”

Kurt lit up, eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned in slowly and pressed a lingering kiss to Blaine’s lips. When he pulled back, Blaine shifted a little closer in his chair, pulling Kurt’s hand into his lap. He looked out over Kurt’s backyard with a soft sigh, playing with his boyfriend’s fingers. “This is the perfect- um, Thanksgiving,” he said softly.

He didn’t have to look at Kurt to know he was smiling. “It really is.” He squeezed Blaine’s hand, leaning against his side. “Welcome to the family, Blaine.”


	33. Vogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and for your comments and your love. It is all extremely appreciated.
> 
> I'm having a bit of a personal hard time, right now, and the next two chapters aren't even drafted. I don't know when they'll be going up, but I'll do my best to get them out in the next couple of weeks.
> 
> Stay safe.

Kurt huffed as he heard someone step into his cube, knowing without looking that it was Jason. “I swear to a deity that I don’t believe in that if you have managed to misplace yet another sample from that show, I will sacrifice you on an altar dedicated to Versace.” He looked up at the man with fire in his eyes.

Jason took a half a step back, hands raised. “Okay, okay, I get it, I’m not allowed to touch anything from another fashion show ever again. How was I supposed to know that the plastic thing was a garment? It looked like a trash bag!”

“It was a one-of-a-kind designer gown, you ignoramus! How did you get a job here? Literally how? You threw away a gown worth more than either of us get paid in a year!”

Jason winced, and Kurt almost felt bad. Almost. He’d had to be the one to explain to the designer how a gown had been ‘lost’. Which in this case meant that a fashion-illiterate intern had literally thrown it in the garbage.

“You’ve made your point,” Jason insisted. “I get it. But it’s not actually me that wants to talk to you, this time.” He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I am learning, you know. Everything else went off without a hitch. It was just that one, little mistake.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, wondering if he could set Jason on fire with a glare. He rolled his eyes after a moment. “Yes, you’re an ideal pupil. At this rate, in twenty years, you’ll be brilliant. But if it’s not you who wants to talk to me, then who?”

Jason gestured back over his shoulder. “Isabelle wants you.”

Kurt took a breath and blew it out, nodding. He knew this was coming. It had taken a while to figure out what happened. After the show was chaos, and then there’d been the break for Thanksgiving. They’d had a ridiculously long grace period before they’d had to finally admit defeat. Kurt fought the urge to glare at his coworker again. Technically, the garment had been lost on his watch. If he hadn’t been with Blaine at dinner, then he’d have been there and known better. He just hoped he wasn’t about to get fired. He stood, straightening his waistcoat. “Right. Take over the phones. If it’s anyone who actually knows anything about fashion, put them on hold until I get back.” If he wasn’t jobless, he’d take care of it then. 

He straightened his shoulders and headed for Isabelle’s office, trying not to look as terrified as he felt.

“Kurt!”

He blinked as Isabelle ran up to hug him, not quite sure how to react. “Uh, hi?”

“How was Blaine? How was the visit? I know you were nervous about Thanksgiving with his folks.”

Kurt stared at her. “So you’re not going to yell at me about losing a piece of the show?”

Isabelle sighed and shook her head. “Not exactly a shining moment, but it happens. Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time that someone’s thrown away a priceless piece of art. Besides, it wasn’t your fault. Jason was in charge of getting everything back to their respective homes. He and I will have a chat later.”

Kurt relaxed marginally. “Oh. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Clearly.” Isabelle beamed at him. “So, how was the visit?”

Kurt grinned. “Well, Thanksgiving with his parents was extremely uncomfortable, exactly the way I thought it’d be. But the rest of it was… was really good, actually. It’s amazing how well he fits into my family.” 

Isabelle sighed happily. “You two are so perfect for each other. I can’t wait until he’s living here in the city and I get to spend some more time with him. A short introduction doesn’t count.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Speaking of the future, I have something that I want to talk to you about.”

Kurt sat down cautiously on the edge of his seat, just shy of suspicious. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re going to tell me something that’s going to change my world?”

“Because you know I wouldn’t call you into my office just to chat, and I always change your world for the better.”

Kurt huffed out a laugh and nodded. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

Isabelle grinned. “Do you remember that Gaga piece that we were working on ages ago?” 

Kurt nodded. “Of course, I do. My first serious editing project. When I never heard back, I just assumed that we’d decided to go a different direction.” 

He hadn’t been thrilled about it, of course. Jason had taken over the project for the weekend he’d been out of town, but neither of them had heard anything from Isabelle. Eventually, they’d been caught up in other projects.

“We did,” Isabelle said simply. “For a while. But I did look over your work, Kurt, and it was spectacular.”

Kurt smiled a little at that, fighting the urge to duck his head. He deserved to be proud. “Thank you. But I don’t see what this has to do with the future. Wasn’t that back in, like, March?”

Isabelle grinned. “Well, we’ve got the opportunity to talk to her again about that equal parts stunning and ridiculous plaid thing that she wore the other day,” Kurt nodded, instantly knowing what she was talking about. “Well, as an add-on and to generate buzz, we’re going to run the interview. Your interview.”

Kurt blinked rapidly, trying to process that. He felt his phone vibrate with a phonecall from his pocket. He pulled it half out, looking at Blaine’s smiling face. He bit his lip as he pressed the decline button. “My interview.”

Isabelle nodded. “May as well be. Your editing job was pretty stellar, especially for a first shot. I’m going to send you some notes and have you work it over again, alright?”

Kurt looked back up at Isabelle and took a breath. “That’s amazing, Isabelle, really. Thank you. Of course I want the chance to look it over again.”

Isabelle grinned. “I thought you’d say that.” She looked to Kurt with an expectant expression. 

He tilted his head. “I assume there’s more?”

Isabelle nodded. “The second interview. I want you to edit that, as well.”

Kurt blinked. “Really? Sure. Yes. Of course.” He frowned slightly. Unless they’d already done the interview, there was no way he could finish that before his internship ended next month. He looked up, about to ask the question.

Isabelle beat him to it. “As an editor. A junior editor.”

Kurt’s eyes went wide. “A non-intern editor?”

Isabelle nodded. “Your internship’s up at the end of December, but I would hate to see you go. What do you say, Kurt? Do you want to be a real employee of Vogue.com?”

Kurt swallowed hard, feeling his heart pounding out of his chest. “Really? You’re serious? I’m not being pranked?”

Isabelle laughed. “Of course not. Your work has been impeccable, you’ve taken on assignments above and beyond. The pay’s a little better, and it looks impressive on your resume. The job’s all yours, if you want it.”

Kurt nodded, biting his lips hard to keep from jumping out of his seat and hugging her. He really couldn’t get in the habit of hugging his boss like that. “Yes. Yes, a million times yes.”

“Great,” Isabelle grinned. “I’ll give HR a call, let them know you’re on your way to sign the paperwork. You have no idea how happy I am to have you on board.”

Kurt felt his phone buzz in his pocket again, the short indicator of a text message. He hesitated, taking a breath. “Tell them I’ll be down in twenty? Blaine called, and I need to call him back.”

Isabelle’s smile softened and she nodded. “Go ahead, Kurt. I’ll let them know to expect you within the hour.”

“Thank you.” He swallowed hard as he stood and headed for the door. “Really, Isabelle, thank you.”

He slipped out of Isabelle’s office and headed straight for the smallest conference room that was always abandoned this time of day, already dialing. “Blaine?”

“Kurt?”

He grinned at the sound of Blaine’s voice. “Hi! Sorry, I’m just excited. I just got out of Isabelle’s office. She had some amazing news for me. You’re not going to believe what just happened. I mean, after Jason’s colossal mistake I thought I was going to be fired and now I have the most amazing news. Are you ready?“

“Oh, um, wow. I didn’t know you were- um, with- with Isabelle.“

Kurt paused. Blaine had called him. Which meant that he wasn’t waiting for Kurt’s big news, no matter how exciting it was. For Blaine to call in the middle of the day, he must have a reason. Kurt shifted to sit down in the conference room chair and forced his shoulders to relax. “It can wait,” he said with a soft smile. “I’ll tell you all about it after you’re done telling me why you’re calling.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Blaine’s voice, sounding a little hesitant. “It was- um, Sam’s idea. We’ve been- we’ve been working on something and he- he thought we could- um, show you.”

Kurt wanted more than anything to tell Blaine about what had happened. But Blaine was clearly a little nervous. He’d had to work himself up to this phone call. Kurt’s news wasn’t more important than whatever Blaine wanted to show him. They had tonight, anyway. He nodded, getting comfortable. “Of course you can. Want to skype me real quick?”

It didn’t take long for the phone to ring. He laughed as Sam’s face popped up on his screen, holding it too close and giving Kurt an intimate look up his nose. And then he was propped up somewhere, looking over most of the living room. Sam was sitting on the couch beside Blaine, who was holding his guitar. 

Blaine looked up at the phone and waved, looking almost shy. Kurt waved back, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Ready, Blaine?” At Blaine’s nod, Sam counted them down, and then Blaine started to play. Kurt recognized the song, utterly enraptured by the way that Blaine’s hands moved over the strings. He’d mentioned in passing that he was taking guitar lessons from Sam, but Kurt had never expected something like this. He wondered how many other hidden talents Blaine had, just waiting to be discovered.

_When I look into your eyes  
It's like watching the night sky  
Or a beautiful sunrise  
So much they hold_

As Sam sang, all Kurt could do was stare at Blaine’s fingers, watching the way they moved so gracefully, playing more than just the chords, doubling the melody. He couldn’t see any hesitation in Blaine’s hands. It was exactly like the day he’d walked in on him playing the piano. If he squinted, and brought his face closer to the screen, he could see that Blaine’s eyes were closed, a soft smile on his face, moving gently with the music. He was beautiful.

_I won't give up on us  
Even if the skies get rough  
I'm giving you all my love  
I'm still looking up_

Kurt clapped, letting out a wolf whistle when they finished. Sam bounced up immediately, reaching for the phone, which gave Kurt a moment to wipe his eyes. “You two are amazing together. I can’t wait to see it in person!”

Then Blaine was on the phone again, bright-eyed and hopeful, and Kurt had never been so glad to walk out of Isabelle’s office. His new job was amazing, but nothing in the world could compare to those bright amber eyes. 

“Yeah?” Blaine’s voice was hopeful “Maybe I’ll… um, maybe I’ll play for you next time you’re- um, you’re here.”

Kurt nodded. “I would absolutely love that, Blaine.”

Blaine flushed and nodded, looking a little awkward, now that the music had stopped. “And Kurt?” he said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for-um, calling me back.”

“I always will, Blaine. Every time.”


	34. Debate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for the long delay between chapters. I needed to take some time for personal reasons, and in that time fell down a rabbit hole for a different fandom and ended up writing a 35K word or so fic for that. Writer's block leads you in some strange directions, sometimes.
> 
> I want to thank you for all of the support on the last chapter, and for letting me know to take the time I needed. I appreciate it so much more than you know. You guys are beyond amazing. You've kept me writing when it's felt like there was no point. You've kept me engaged and given me the gift of knowing my writing was making someone smile or laugh or cry. I am forever indebted to you for that.
> 
> Thanks for the ride, y'all. Today will be a double post. We'll close this story out in style.

Blaine sat in the middle of his living room, a file on his lap. On top of it sat his notebook, open to a neatly printed page, and a pen. He had his stress ball in his hand, but he wasn’t playing with it, not yet. He wanted to try to get through this without looking nervous, if at all possible. He’d been sitting there for half an hour already. It wouldn’t be much longer. His dad was in town, for once, but at work. His mom would probably arrive home around the same time. He was ready. He was prepared. He looked up as the door opened and his mother walked in.

“Yes, yes, I know, the flowers were all wrong. We’ll get them fixed tonight and, in the morning, they won’t even notice the difference,” Pam’s voice changed at the last word when she noticed Blaine sitting calmly in the center of the room. “Yes. Get them ordered. I’ll check in with you tonight. Do me a favor, and make sure everyone knows not to call for the next hour or so.”

She slipped out of her coat and tucked it away in the closet, her bag as well. Blaine was reminded of the last time he’d ambushed her like this. She seemed calmer, this time. He managed a little bit of a smile. “Don’t worry, it’s- um, it’s nothing bad.”

Pam nodded as she walked into the room, sitting on the edge of the sofa. She eyed the file in his lap. “Alright, well, you have my attention.”

Blaine bit his lip and shook his head. He could do this with his mom. Let her talk to his dad, let the two of them argue about it without him in the room. It would be easier. But he didn’t want to take the easy way out. Not for this. “Sorry, Mom. I need- um, I need Dad here, too.”

Pam raised an eyebrow. Something shifted in her expression, but Blaine didn’t have time to read it before she was standing. “In that case, I’m going to make myself some tea. And you, too. Your father will want coffee.” She checked her watch. “You’ve got twenty minutes or so before he comes in.” 

She headed for the kitchen without another word, leaving Blaine alone to focus on his breathing. He was doing better. Fewer panic attacks. He was able to focus more and more on his schoolwork. Talking with Kurt consistently was doing more for his speech than speech therapy. Or maybe it was the combination. Probably that, but he didn’t want to admit it. His therapist said he was doing well, taking his meds and working on his coping mechanisms. Even Alex was impressed. He flipped through the papers in the file on his lap, but everything was in order. He didn’t even realize that time was passing until he heard the front door open again.

His father stepped into the house, kicking snow off of his shoes. He sighed, shrugging out of his coat. He looked up to see Blaine watching him, and Blaine watched the play of emotions over his face. Surprise. Annoyance. Worry. Frustration. And then a wall came down and closed his expression, and Blaine no longer had any idea what he was thinking.

“Will you come to- um, to the living room, please?” Blaine asked, nodding toward the couch. “Mom’s in- in the- um, the kitchen.”

At that moment, Pam swept back into the room with three mugs balanced delicately in her hands. Blaine had no idea how she’d timed it so well. 

“Sit, John,” Pam said, though her voice was gentle. “Blaine has something he wants to talk to both of us about.” She set one mug on one end of the coffee table, one on the other, and brought the last to Blaine, pulling the end table over so that he’d have somewhere to rest it. She raised her now free hand at the sound of John protesting. “No, I have no idea what it’s about.” She took her place on the couch, closest to Blaine, and crossed her legs primly.

John sighed and ran a hand over his face. “You know, it’s already been a long day. If we can wrap this up quickly, that would be ideal.” He trudged over to the couch and flopped down onto it, grabbing for the mug of coffee.

Blaine opened his file with unsteady hands. Inside were two bundles of papers, each paperclipped together. They were identical. One for each parent. He handed them both to his mom, knowing she’d know what to do with them. He watched her pass one wordlessly to his father and looked down at the speech he’d written dozens of times over since Thanksgiving.

“I know that the past year hasn’t been easy. Longer than that, really. Since I woke up, it hasn’t been easy on you two. You’ve helped me so much, with physical therapy and regular therapy and speech therapy. I know that Mom having to work from home has been difficult. I know that it’s cost a lot of money, even with our insurance.” He knew it was part of the reason his parents were sitting feet away from each other on the couch, no longer so much as touching. “I know I’ve asked a lot of you. But I’m asking for something else.” He took a deep breath, then looked up at his parents, making eye contact with each of them for a moment. “I want to go to New York.”

John snorted. “Absolutely not. This is ridiculous.” He had been staring down at the papers in his lap, but now he shook his head, glaring at Blaine. “Why would we ever agree to that?”

Blaine looked to his mom, but she didn’t seem particularly convinced, either. “Sweetheart, we know that you want to be with Kurt, but you’re not ready.”

“Yes, I am.” Blaine nodded to the papers he’d given them. “That’s a-,” he huffed, then looked down at his notebook, flipping pages. “That’s a letter from each of my therapists: mental health, speech, phsysio, as well as a note from my doctor. I’ve been talking to them all about it, and none of them have a reason for me not to go. I’m cleared to travel, so I’d be able to visit back and forth. My neurologist has a list of recommendations up north for doctors. My physical therapy can be cut down to once a week, and Alex knows some people in the city. My therapist and speech therapist have both agreed to keep working with me on Skype, at least until I find someone that I like that’s local. There’s no medical reason I shouldn’t go.”

Pam blinked at him, then looked down, unclipping the papers and starting to read.

“Even if that were true,” John started, “and I would have to confirm with each of them that they hadn’t gone completely off the deep end, you have non-medical reasons to be here. Us, for one. And school.”

“I’m doing school, um, online,” Blaine said quietly. “And I- I talked to Dalton. They don’t- um, they don’t care where I finish my-,” he frowned, lips twitching, but only for a moment, “classes. I’m on an- um, an accelerated course of- of study. I could finish in- um, in a- a- a year.”

“So then why not stay here another year?” John asked simply. “You can continue PT with a therapist that you actually like. You’ll have time to sort out your epilepsy medications. You can finish your classes online with your mother’s help. You haven’t given us one good reason to go.”

Blaine swallowed hard. This was going to be the hard part. “Kurt.”

John scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I- I, um, love him, and he- he loves me.”

“It’s a schoolboy crush. Nothing more.”

Pam looked up at that. “No, it isn’t,” she said softly. She turned to look at her husband. “And you know it isn’t. Kurt’s been around for more than a year, at this point. He visited Blaine when he was still unconscious in the hospital. He’s been here once a month almost every month this year for a visit. They’ve made it work long-distance this long.” She sighed quietly. “You don’t have to like it, John, but you can’t dismiss it.”

Blaine shot his mother a grateful look, reaching for his stress ball. “I want- um, I want to be with him. And-,” he grabbed his pen, writing, knowing his father hated the delay in the conversation, but needing to be more articulate than he could manage without. “It would give you and mom a break from being constant caretakers. I could still come home a lot to visit. And there’s so much in the city. So many resources for people like me. Here, I’m the freak in the chair. Everyone in town knows me. The people who-,” he closed his eyes for a moment, then forced himself to focus, “the people who think I had Max and his friends thrown in jail for nothing live here. Everyone knows me as the kid who was in a coma.” He looked up at his dad. “People stare. All the- um, all the time. I can’t go- um, go anywhere with mom without- without people knowing.” He looked back down at his notebook. “This is where I was hurt. I can be normal, there. And maybe it won’t be perfect. I’m still in the chair, so people will look, but they won’t know.” He reached up, pulling his hair down over his scar to hide it, a nervous tic he’d mostly lost, over the past months. “It isn’t just about Kurt. I want a fresh start. I want a chance to be normal.”

His father didn’t reply. 

It took Blaine a while to convince himself to look up. When he did, his heart cracked in his chest. He’d never seen an expression like that on his mother’s face. She looked like her heart was breaking for him. But there was a knowledge in her eyes. She’d known. She spent the most time with him. She knew why he said no when she invited him out for grocery shopping, why he insisted on wearing a beanie or a cap, even when it was impractical. She knew that his life here was a series of appointments and nothing more, constant reminders of everything he’d lost. 

But the real surprise was his father. John looked exhausted. There was a sadness in the back of his eyes that Blaine hadn’t expected to be there, like Blaine’s speech had confirmed all of his worst fears. For a moment, Blaine could see his fear and his frustration at not being able to do more. The man who may react badly to some of Blaine’s choices, but who had also insisted on finding the best possible care for him, over the past few years.

John looked at Pam, and the look they exchanged was the sort of silent communication that parents always seemed to have.

“Give us some time,” John said quietly. “We need to talk this over, just us.” His grip on the papers in his lap was white-knuckled. “We’ll let you know what we decide.”


	35. December

Christmas was Kurt’s favorite time of year. Even the airport was decorated, Christmas trees and decorations on every available surface. Who could possibly be unhappy when looking at a picture of a laughing Santa Claus, or hearing Christmas carols over the tinny airport speakers? Even the flight hadn’t bothered him as much as it usually did. Sure, it was full of kids, so close to the holidays, but everyone seemed to be in a better mood than any other time of the year. They were all going to see family, after all.

He was arriving two days before Christmas. He was cutting it a little close, but he’d been prepping for the job transition and trying to get things ready. Besides, he was going to stay in Ohio through the New Year, spend some quality time with his dad and with Blaine. In fact, he was headed straight from the airport to Blaine’s to pick him up for their Christmas date. Kurt touched his pocket as he headed toward the rental car place. Burt and Carole had a Christmas party tonight, so Kurt had volunteered to drive himself. He checked for the millionth time that he had Blaine’s present, the little box feeling warm when he touched it. 

He pulled up to the Anderson home and smiled at the sight of the Christmas lights decorating the roof and yard. They were all tasteful, of course, exactly to Pam’s preferences. Simple, white, beautiful. The lights made the snow on the lawn sparkle. Kurt took a deep breath before climbing out of the SUV, winding his red scarf around his neck to protect against the fresh snow that was falling. 

He knocked on the door, blowing into his hands, cursing himself for forgetting gloves. He turned at the sound of the door opening and stared, eyes going wide. “Blaine!”

Blaine was standing in the doorway. Not sitting in his chair, not leaning on his walker, standing. Sure, his grip was a little tight on the doorknob, and he had to put out a hand to brace himself on the jamb, but he was really, properly standing. Kurt laughed, surging forward and wrapping him up in his arms, holding a bit of his weight as he buried his face in his shoulder. “You never cease to amaze me, you know that?”

Blaine laughed, holding him so tightly it almost hurt. “Well, I figured I’d-um, get the Christmas miracle out of the way early- um, tonight. I know it’s snowing. No one wants me- me walking when it might be slick.”

Kurt hummed, burying his fingers in Blaine’s lovely green sweater before pulling back. He gently kissed his lips and then nodded. “That’s absolutely right. I’m not letting you fall on our Christmas date. That would just be ridiculous.” He helped ease Blaine back into his chair- he must have stood just behind the door- and smiled. “Are you ready?”

Blaine nodded, gesturing to the closet. “Help me with my- um, my coat?”

Kurt grinned and nodded, moving to the coat closet. Soon, Blaine was wearing a gorgeous black peacoat and a knit beanie covered in Christmas trees. He had on reindeer mittens that were so adorable that Kurt couldn’t even call out the massive fashion faux pas. Kurt was wearing a pair of simple, black, borrowed gloves to protect his hands. He glanced around, frowning slightly. “No send-off tonight?”

Blaine shook his head. “They’re on a- um, a date,” he said with a slight smile.

Kurt raised his eyebrows. For some reason, he tended to think of Pam and John as two very separate people, and not the sort who went on dates. “Oh. That’s- That’s nice. Good for them.”

Blaine nodded, his expression thoughtful as Kurt walked around to take the handles of the chair. “It is.”

Westerville had a park that went all out with Christmas lights every year and situated in the middle of it was an adorable brick oven pizza place. They had a patio that was set up almost like a greenhouse, with double doors on either end and one wall made of nothing but windows. Even the ceiling was glass. During the summer, it was a great place to feel like you were sitting outside without dealing with the gross Ohio humidity. During the Christmas season, the entire room turned into a winter wonderland, fairy lights strung between the trees all around shining through the windows. Kurt had to admit, it was even more beautiful than the pictures he’d seen online.

He pushed Blaine up to the table and helped him out of his coat before moving to sit beside him. It seemed more intimate that way. They could speak a little more softly over the candle in the middle of the table. He wanted to take Blaine’s hand, but he knew where they were and Blaine’s opinions on PDA. He settled with smiling softly at him. “So, what do you think?”

Blaine was grinning, admiring the lights through the windows. “I’ve been here in the- um, in the summer a few times. With my- um, my parents. Doesn’t hold a- a candle to this.”

Kurt hummed happily. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” 

He ordered them some waters while Blaine searched through the menu. Kurt had a side salad and a calzone that he could only finish half of. Blaine absolutely devoured a pizza covered in cheese and veggies and some things Kurt couldn’t identify. The conversation was light, easy. Christmas plans with the family (Kurt with his, Blaine with his, though neither of them wanted to miss out on being with each other).

Kurt kept getting distracted, all through dinner. Blaine looked even more gorgeous lit by candles and Christmas lights than usual. His eyes seemed to sparkle every time he looked up to talk. He was moving his hands animatedly as he told some story about Sam and one of the seven thousand Star Wars things that they watched together. His speech was flowing, easy. Kurt barely even heard the verbal tics anymore, or the hesitation when he lost a word. Blaine didn’t have any trouble communicating at all, as far as Kurt was concerned. He was the most beautiful thing that Kurt had ever seen.

“Come take a walk with me.” That hadn’t been the plan. They were going to exchange gifts at dinner, then go home. He didn’t want to get Blaine sick by keeping him out in the cold. But there was something about the night that felt too magical to let it end.

Blaine beamed at him. “Of course,” he said happily. “I’d love to.”

The park was stunning. For all of Westerville’s faults, it knew how to do Christmas. Kurt pushed Blaine through the snow for a while until they reached a dock looking over a small pond. The trees ringing it were covered in lights of every color, winding their way up the trunks and every branch. The water reflected them back, lighting up the night, turning the snowflakes in the air into glitter. They were alone, other than the shadow of another couple on the other side of the lake. Kurt set Blaine’s brake and leaned against the railing of the dock, brushing away a little snow. “I love Christmas.”

“Me, too.” Blaine’s voice was warm, and Kurt could practically feel his eyes on him. 

Kurt reached into his pocket and pulled out the little box, wrapped in bright Christmas paper. “I- um, I have your gift.” 

He held it out to Blaine, feeling shockingly nervous. This was where they’d been headed for a long time. It wasn’t going to be a surprise. It couldn’t be. Still, his heart was racing as Blaine ripped off the paper to reveal a velvet box. His eyes went wide, and Kurt shot him an encouraging smile. “Go ahead,” he said softly.

Blaine opened the box, and inside was a silver key. He looked up at Kurt, confusion written all over his face.

“I found it,” Kurt said quietly. “The perfect apartment. And I- I know that you aren’t ready to move, and I respect that. But I don’t- I didn’t want you to think that I’m not ready. So I met with the leasing agent and I signed a lease. At the end of January, I’m going to be moving into that apartment. It’s in Brooklyn. First floor, no stairs. There’s not a ton of natural light, but, you know, the budget was what it was. I have pictures to show you, of course, on my phone. Everything’s ADA compliant, and I walked the whole place. I’m going to furnish it really lightly. I know that you’re planning on being out of the chair before you move up, but I wanted to make sure that we were prepared, just in case. And it- I mean, it’s currently painted this absolutely atrocious red color, but I’m going to fix all that. And that- It’s your key. For when you- um, I mean, if you get the chance to visit again. Because it’s your home, as well as mine. Just as soon as you’re ready.” He looked at Blaine and blanched. His eyes were shining, and he was swallowing repeatedly. “Oh, God, this is too much. I’m- I’m so sorry. I don’t mean- I mean, I’m not expecting- You don’t have to- Oh, please don’t cry.” He moved closer, fussing over Blaine like he could somehow make the water works stop. He froze when he heard a snort of laughter, Blaine’s free hand coming out to stop his own.

“No,” Blaine was smiling, now, smiling and crying at the same time. “No, not- um, too much. It’s- Kurt, it’s- um, it’s the most- the most perfect gift.”

Kurt blew out a breath, trying to calm his heart that was attempting to beat out of his chest. “It’s not? Good. Good. Perfect is definitely good.”

Blaine licked his lips, reached for the side of his wheelchair, and pulled out an envelope. “It’s- um, it’s my gift to you.”

Kurt took it with shaky hands, ripping open the paper. He stared at the single sheet inside. Each of Blaine’s doctors and therapists was listed at the bottom, a signature beside the name. Alex’s signature had a little heart over it and a winky face underneath. Kurt blinked, then looked up to read the paragraph above.

_Dear Kurt,_

_I knew I couldn’t get through this without stuttering, not even with my notebook. Plus, I wanted you to have proof that this is real. I know that it might seem sort of sudden, and if this isn’t what you want, then I completely understand. But I want to move to New York. I want to live with you, if you’ll have me. I want us to be together in every possible way. I talked to my doctors, therapists, parents, school, anyone who could possibly have an argument against it, and I convinced them all. Your Christmas present this year, if you want it, is me. In New York City. With you. _

_I love you._

_Blaine_

_PS: No pressure, seriously, we can wait as long as you want._

Kurt swallowed hard, rereading the letter, and then staring at the signatures. There was the headmaster of Dalton, right beside Blaine’s neurologist. And scrawled at the bottom, in handwriting that looked quite a lot like her son’s, was a note from Pam.

_Take care of my baby, Kurt. We’ll work out the details soon. _

Her signature and, far more surprisingly, John’s, were right underneath.

Kurt looked up at Blaine, and suddenly he understood the tears in his eyes. He was having to fight off the sting behind his own. “Blaine,” he said quietly. “Yes. Yes, of course, I want you to come live with me. We- We can decorate the apartment together. We can- We can be together. We can live together. You and me.” He couldn’t seem to stop smiling. He leaned down, resting his hands on the arms of Blaine’s chair, and kissed his lips.

As he pulled back, he saw the reflection of the lights dancing in Blaine’s eyes. The letter. The key. Everything was falling into place. “Blaine Anderson,” he said quietly, “You’re moving to New York City.”

Blaine’s answering grin was brighter than any Christmas lights Kurt had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so much for following along with me, all the way from the very beginning of Ghost Story. For those of you who have commented or left kudos, or even just read every chapter, thank you. I can't believe how strong this fandom still is, so long after the show ended.
> 
> There is a planned sequel to this, but it's going to be a while before I can start posting. To be honest, my muse has left me a little bit on this story. I hope not to keep you waiting for too long. There is an outlined plot, I just need to get around to actually writing it, and some other projects are currently taking priority. 
> 
> I hope to see you all when the muse strikes up again.
> 
> In the meantime, be safe, be happy, and thank you for all of your incredible support.


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